If We Met at Midnight
by CelticGames4
Summary: Christenson. Stallosky. Sheffield. Kasparek. Bannister. Families that took residence in District 12 that may not have been listed in Katniss's perspective, but are the opposite of unimportant. Follow these five lineages through the ages, from the Dark Days to the end of the Capitol, through love and losing it, friendship, heartbreak, death, and most importantly, rebellion.
1. Kaspareks-Rebellion

-Kaspareks: Rebellion-era (70th-End of Games)-

_Dennis_

It's another gray day here in this stupid District. Another day of schedules printed on arms, another day of trying to read the ink over tattoos. Another day of receiving disgusted looks from people. Another day of people gaping at tattoos and asking me if I'm from the Capitol.

If they knew anything about tattoos, they'd obviously know I'm not from the Capitol. They've got those cool scanner-like devices that just print it right onto you, whereas in places like 12, the tattoos are scarred because we have to use the old-fashioned needles and, you know, actually make art.

I hate it here, but I have no other place to go considering my home is gone now. My poor District 12. It was a place I never thought I'd miss, but now, sitting in this perfectly pristine gray cubic prison, I do miss it. Maybe I just miss the people that I've lost over the past year or so.

My name is Dennis Kasparek. I'm 18 years old. I was a tattoo artist back home, and I did all my trading from the Hob and I never once went behind that stupid electric fence. (Sidenote: Do you know how fucking hard it is to trade for squirrel meat in that place?!) I used to live in the Seam with my Dad and work in the mines with my best friends.

It wasn't a great life, but now that I look back on it, it really was the best kind of life you can live in District 12. One that acknowledges the fact that I could die anytime from any cause and to make the best of what little time I have. One where drinking with Peacekeepers was more common than getting shot by them. One where I got up and worked hard every day for what little I could get, and could spend the night doing art. One where my Dad and I may've gotten into screaming matches every day, but that's okay because he really did care about me.

I sit by myself in my compartment, wishing I had the luxury of looking out the window when I was having a sleepless night like this one. I don't want to go to sleep. Every time I close my eyes I see dying people, people that I held near and dear to me in their coffins, I see graves with names carved into them, usually by my hand because my hands are the most stable.

_I went to the graveyard. The day before District 12 was bombed. It was like something in me knew I would have to say goodbye to it even before that arrow was let go and the entire fucking nation was flipped upside-down. _

_I walked for a long time, hands in my pockets, reading the names on the graves. Some of them I recognized, some of them I didn't. An Everdeen and a Hawthorne. I shook my head and push the memories of that fateful day with the explosion out of my mind. Half a dozen or so other graves lay around those two with the same date on them. _

_I kept walking. So many Games graves. The most recent two belong to Orlick Bannister and Kiera Hartzell. I remembered, I still remember, that terrible day I spent hunched over two slabs of rock, trying to make sure the letters were even. I went back and forth all day between crying fits and carving, considering that Orlick Bannister happened to be someone I really loved. I didn't even know it until Stallosky forced me to admit it six months later during the Victory Tour. Watching Everdeen volunteer for her sister made it worse. _

_I saw a couple of stones so worn out that only one or two letters were still legible. I wondered if that's all that would become of Orlick and Kiera's graves, as well, random rocks that some wanderer will walk past without a clue or a care who they represent. _

It was only a day before those bombs. I had no idea, but everything was going to change. There would be no more gravestones, no more graveyard, no more Hob, no more anything, as far as any of us know. We wouldn't know, though, the stiff-necks in this hell hole won't tell us anything and they won't let us see it, either. I'm left to assume District 12 looks a lot like the above-ground of this mess.

_I saw one grave that had nothing legible except for a small string of letters: "LIE A". If I had paid attention and stayed in school more, I'd have probably known enough about the Games to place it. I'm not that smart, though, and kept walking. _

_I saw two graves, side-by-side, both labeled Sheffield but the rest worn off. The name sounded and still sounds familiar to me, and looking back on it now, I think somehow one or both of them knew my Dad. I even saw a couple of graves with Kasparek on them, but no names that I recognized. _

_I passed the grave of Hector Stallosky, my good friend Sylvester's father who died in the mines. Sylvester's buried next to him, his name a lot fresher and more legible than his father's. Yet another one of the stones engraved by my hand. _

_That was a hard day for me. It was one of the few times since I turned ten that my father had sing to me to ward off nightmares. Probably the most abrupt, overwhelming sense of grief I've ever felt in my life. After I was done with the grave I had to tattoo myself till the sky was dark to keep the same knife that carved the rock from carving any part of me. And the funeral was even worse. _

_The worst part about that mess is that I watched Sylvester die gradually. It was starvation that finally took him; over the years he would often get sick and would grow paler and paler each time but he never stopped. He had small scars in various places from some bad infections and that one really bad case of the measles. And he had big scars on his back from being whipped after getting caught stealing from the Victor's Village. That was another of the many nightmarish days spent in District 12. _

_Anyways, through the years I watched Sylvester grow weaker, work more, and get sick. His life must've been miserable, there's no way it could've not been, besides maybe his sister Willow. Stuck working the days away, no food, no clean water to drink or bathe in, and yet he never gave up on anything. In fact, he was the most stubborn-ass person I ever knew. _

_I shook the thought from my head and kept walking. I passed various other Games graves, some of people I knew, some of complete strangers. I walked and walked until I reached Orlick and Kiera's grave, and that's when I started to break down. _

_Orlick was my best friend (he was more than my best friend, I loved him so much, he was my whole world and though I can't say he returned my feelings with a whole heart, I can say that he was my boyfriend though I don't really want to say that around these 13 people because they seem snobby enough to be homophobes: associating it with the Capitol, just like they associate art and color with the damn place) and yet I let him off to die anyways, I didn't volunteer for him like the Saint Katniss Everdeen volunteered for her sister. I should've, but I didn't. _

_Losing Orlick was a big eye-opener for me. He was the first person I really gave my heart to, and the first person that trusted his heart to me. Looking back on it, now, I tried to make him stay with fear, and I abused my privilege of his delicate little heart in my hands. I didn't see that until it was too late. After that I was in a depressed rut that Sylvester broke, the day before he left me, too. Art's the only thing I ever had to get me out of it. And sometimes my Dad, if he wasn't drunk. _

_I finally made it to the second most recent grave in that graveyard. The one for my Dad, the one that didn't take me very long to carve at all considering I've had lots of experience with it. He was shot by a Peacekeeper, a Peacekeeper who I knew plenty well and who I tattooed (and who raped me multiple times, conscious and unconscious), and yet he shot my Dad for whistling that Hanging Tree song. It's now the anthem of the rebels, thanks to Miss Perfect Mockingjay. _

I know I need to be nice to our rebellion leader, and at least try to look up to her, but everything about her makes me seethe with envy. Maybe it's her happy relationship with the blonde kid that does it, just jealousy that a love like _that _can live, while mine are all gone forever.

I've always known that rebellion is necessary, but I never would've dreamt of it costing this much. And now that I've watched all the people I love drop off like flies, I start to doubt how much I really want this. I just have to keep reminding myself that we're fighting to end the Games forever, end those pageants that took Orlick away from me, fighting to defeat the Capitol that neglected our people to starvation and sent Peacekeepers like the one that killed my Dad. Damn the Capitol!

_After spending a long, sad moment at my father's grave, I moved on to the freshest grave in District 12. It's not a real grave considering there's not a real body buried beneath it. In fact, the only reason it's there is because the other Peacekeepers wanted it there in memorial of someone they thought was a very important person. _

_I make sure to flip off the grave of Diesel Bundren, the Peacekeeper that killed my father and violated me. He was killed by a good friend of mine, Rouge Beauregard. She was a Peacekeeper from District 2 who was way pro-Capitol until she was forced to 12 and I got to her. In fact, she shot Diesel Bundren right in the head and then she took off, disappeared under the fence, and I haven't seen her since. I owe a lot to her, though. She's a bitch when she's drunk, but I guess she wasn't the worst friend ever. _

I draw all over the tiny sheet of paper I have that's supposed to last a week. If I had known they were going to destroy my home and I'd end up in such a grim, professional hell-hole, I would've taken all the paper I've ever owned. There were some drawings I really liked, and they're gone. Not to mention my needle, and all those stupid old Kasparek keepsakes.

Suddenly I reach into the pocket of my old coat from home (which I wear when I'm in my compartment; it's much more comforting to me than this stupid gray rat-ugly thing) and find the two halves of paper, the last thing I have left that reminds me of home besides the coat (but I have to hide the coat; I don't want them taking it away) and it's the last thing I have left of my Dad.

I put the halves together again and study the drawing of the happy boy with smiling, round eyes, messy hair, and a beanie. I still can't believe it was done by my father's hand; I didn't know he was anything of an artist. It's one of the things he had in common with me that I never knew until he was long gone.

I read the note again. I read it multiple times. It's addressed to a Sheffield, probably one of the two I saw in the graveyard that day.

Just then, I think to check the schedule printed on my arm and realize I should be out for food. I leave my compartment and start walking, only stopping short when I hear tiny sobs. I'm no good with things like this, but I have to at least try, so I wander towards the sound.

I find the maker of the noise sitting against a wall next to a storage closet, crying quietly into his knees. He's a tiny little thing, no older than 12 or 13 I'm sure. I kneel down in front of him.

"Hey," I say, as quietly and gently as I can. He jumps a bit and stares up at me with teary, dark gray eyes. "Hi there," I whisper again, trying my damndest to be gentle.

He sniffles. "Hi," he says, voice wavering with tears.

"What's wrong, kid?"

"I'm n-not a kid," he sniffles.

I lightly touch a hand to his shoulder and he doesn't make any effort to move it. "Of course not. Rebellion forces you to grow up fast, doesn't it?" He sniffles and nods tearily into his knees.

"How old are you?"

"Thirteen," he chokes out.

"Ah, I see. I'm eighteen."

He nods a bit, whimpering and trying not to cry.

"What's the matter?"

He wipes his eyes and looks up at me, a sad expression on his face. "M-My brother Hal's gonna join the military," he sniffle, "He's gonna go fight 'nd leave me here b-by myself!" he wipes his eyes.

"Oh," I say quietly, "I see." I rub his back gently.

"He said… H-He said District 12's g-gone…" he cries quietly, "'Nd we were lucky to live…"

"I'm sorry to say, but he's not lying."

"Why?"

"Because the Capitol's a nasty place."

"Yeah, it is." He sighs sadly into his knees and whimpers. "I'm angry that Hal's leaving. He's leaving j-just like Dad left us at an orphanage after Mom died…"

I rub his back gently. "That's terrible."

"I don't want Hal to go," he says quietly, "I don't want him to leave me and Biddy. Why would he want to!?" he starts crying again, softly.

"Want to know something? I'm going to fight, too, in the military, just like your big brother."

"Y-You are?" He looks up at me with wide, misty eyes.

"That's right."

"Wh-Why?'

"Lemme tell you a story." He nods and I continue, "Back in District 12, I lived a fairly happy life. My Dad and I didn't get along very well, but he was there when I needed him to be. I was friends with Peacekeepers-" he gasps a little and I nod, "They liked my art. But my two best friends were both native to 12, just like us."

He nods a little, swallowing hard. I continue. "One of them was a few years younger than me. His name was Orlick. The other was a couple years older than me. His name was Sylvester. Orlick, Sylvester and I worked together in the mines. Every day we worked very hard, and we weren't paid very much thanks to the Capitol."

The little boy keeps nodding. "Like Hal 'nd the other orphan boys used to. They came back all coal-dusty every day."

"Yeah, that's right." I smile a little, trying to get him to forget his tears, though unfortunately the story doesn't get much happier. "My friends weren't much, but they meant the world to me. But things didn't go very well. Orlick died at age 14 in the 73rd Hunger Games." The poor boy gasps a little. I nod sadly and keep going. "Sylvester died after Katniss's first Games, the 74th. He starved to death because the Capitol doesn't pay coal miners well at all."

"That's terrible!"

"And one of the Peacekeepers who I thought was a friend shot my Dad for singing Hanging Tree."

"I know that song!" he says, "My brother Hal sings it to me sometimes! He says that Dad sang it to him a lot."

"I like that song. But after my Dad was shot, the rebellion happened and now we're here." He nods. "I'm going to go and fight not for myself or my generation, but for all the youngins like you who would still have to worry about reapings. I was never through the Games, but I never ever want anyone again to suffer through them. I don't want to be starved. I don't want people to fall into the fates of my best friends, and I certainly don't want anyone to be in my position ever again."

He nods a little bit.

"I'm not fighting for myself anymore. I have nothing else to lose. I'm fighting for generations to come, I'm fighting for people that I'll probably never meet. And I may die for them, but I may not. And I promise I'll protect Hal. How does that sound?"

"Would you!?" he smiles at me, his eyes lighting up. "That would be so good! Thank you! Thank you so much!"

I pat his head, his raven black hair soft in my fingers, and hug him back lightly. He puts his chin on my chest and smiles up at me. "You said you knew Hanging Tree… Would you sing it to me?"

"Uh, sure." I'm not confident at all in my singing ability, but I sing anyways, trying to stay on pitch. The kid listens like I sang it really well.

Once I get through the song, he's smiling and his eyes are dry. I release him and ruffle his soft hair, smiling softly.

"My name is Dennis. What's yours?"

"Proctor," he says, "Proctor Kasparek!"

I freeze up and glance at him, confused.

"Y-You're a Kasparek?!" I ask, shocked. Suddenly some very _very_ fuzzy memories come to mind of an Uncle and Aunt, of a playdate when I was just a kid and of hanging onto my Dad's sleeve while watching a couple of strangers and a shy little boy hugging his Dad's leg.

"Yeah. Proctor Kasparek."

After a pause, I hug him tightly and press his face into my chest, delighted at finding something special to me that I can protect and call my own again. He hugs me back tightly, though I'm sure he's confused.

"It's nice to meet you, Proctor. I… I think we're cousins."


	2. Kaspareks- 58th, Rebellion II

-Kaspareks: 58th Games-

_Kyran_

I finish cleaning the house just as I hear a knock on the door. I open the door and see my brother there, with his wife and his little boy.

"Kyran!" Anse, my older brother, hugs me for the first time since I was eighteen and crying at Salem's funeral. I hug him back, just glad to see him. We haven't talked for the longest time, but finally decided to get together after reuniting a couple of months back.

"Hey Ansey," I say quietly, laughing as his face contorts to a huffy sigh.

"Hi Kyran," his wife Rose says. She's a lovely woman with long, dark Seam hair and bright eyes.

"Nice to see you, Rose." She hugs me and I hug back.

Just then, I glance down at the small boy that holds tightly to his Mom's leg. "And who's this?" I offer with a gentle smile.

Anse strokes the little boy's hair gently. "This is Hal. Hal, this is your Uncle Kyran." He waves shyly and I smile gently at him. "It's nice to finally meet you, Hal. In fact, I think I have someone here that you can be friends with. Come on in, all of you."

I let them in, and the small family of three follows.

"Hey Dennis," I say, and my two-year-old boy looks up from where he was sucking on his fingers and watching a rerun of the 25th Games on the TV. When he sees the other family, he quickly hides behind my legs, hugging one of them tightly.

I laugh a little bit and pat his head. "This is your Uncle Anse and your Aunt Rose."

Dennis peeks out from my legs shyly, still sucking his fingers, and waves shyly.

Rose kneels down, smiling in her motherly way. "Hi there Dennis. It's nice to meet you."

"Hi," mumbles Dennis.

"How old are you?" she asks, with the interested smile only a mother can manage.

"Two." His grip on my leg loosens slightly.

"Two? That's very cool." She smiles softly. "I know someone else that's two. And I think he might like to be your friend." Dennis looks at her, sucking his fingers, interested. "Would you like to meet him?"

Dennis nods, and Rose gestures for Anse to come over with Hal. Rose takes her little boy's hand and leads him over gently. "This is Hal. He's your cousin." She turns to Hal, brushing the bangs out of his face. "Hal, this is Dennis. He wants to be your friend. Want to say hi?"

"Hi," mumbles Hal. Dennis smiles and waves, letting go of my leg but grabbing my shirt sleeve.

"What do you like to do, Dennis?" Anse and I exchange a smile.

"I like to draw 'nd color," Dennis says, sucking on his fingers, "'Nd I like to play house and also play superhero…"

"Ooh, I like to play house!" Hal says happily, and soon the two boys run off together, giggling.

I smile and sit down on my favorite rocking chair, the other two having a seat.

"So, how have things been?" I ask.

"They've been pretty good with us," Anse says. "But how about you?"

"It's been a couple of years of restoration," I sigh. "Trying to build myself back up again after what happened with Salem and the Sheffields."

"Have you talked to Holland lately? Or Hester?" Anse asks.

"No. Not lately."

"You should consider it. They can help you."

"Maybe. Once Dennis is off in school."

Rose glances at the TV and frowns. "You let Dennis watch this?"

"He should know what the Games are."

"Isn't he… A little young, though?"

"He doesn't get it yet."

"I just… I don't know if he should be watching…" she bites her lip.

"He isn't messed up yet," I say quietly.

"Alright," she says. I'm sure she's already questioning my parenting methods, like_ I_ haven't been questioning them for the past 2 years or so.

"Have you heard anything from his mother?" Anse asks.

"No, not since she left him on my doorstep." I sigh quietly.

"I'm sorry, Little Bro," Anse says, looking at me with sad, sympathetic eyes. He knows how much my life sucks, even if Rose doesn't. After all, he was there every step of it. He was always the one to take me home when I got drunk, always the one to sit with me while I cried, always my escort to the funerals… Anse was always there for me, and I guess I never acknowledged that when I was younger.

"It's fine."

"Well, I hope you've been letting Dennis make you happy."

"The pipsqueak's the only thing I've got left."

We hear happy squealing coming from the other side of the room, and two little voices giggling.

"The terrible two's aren't too terrible," Rose says, smiling and adding, "No pun intended."

"Yeah, I guess not."

"Well I think it's because we've got some good kids," Anse says. We all look over to where Dennis and Hal giggle madly, imagining some scene that no adult could ever perceive.

"Dennis isn't really that great at making friends," I say quietly.

"Hal's a bit shy himself."

"They seem happy together."

"Yeah. I hope we don't lose either of them to the Games," sighs Anse. My mind goes to Dallas, sweet little Dallas Sheffield, who we never even thought to think could possibly go off into the Games. But he did, and he died on the first day.

"We still have ten years," Rose says quietly. "Ten years before it even becomes a remote worry."

My stomach tightens. "Two years have gone so fast, though. They'll be ready for reapings before any of us know it."

"Well… There's no use worrying about it now," Rose says, "Maybe the Games will be over before the kids even get to them."

"Damn the Capitol," I breathe. Anse looks at me with a sad glint in his eyes. He knows how much I mean those words. He knew me better than anyone, and he still does.

He was there when I was nothing but a three year old and asked why there was so much blood on the TV. He was there when I was 7 and learned what the Games really were. He was there when I was 12 and so scared for my first reaping I dissolved into a sobbing mess while eating breakfast. He was there when I was 15 and woke up screaming from a nightmare. He was there the first time I ever had a blade hovering over my skin, when I was 18, the night Salem got reaped.

He was there with me through the whole Games. And he was there to sing Hanging Tree over and over again until I passed out the day Salem died. He was there for the Victory Tour, and let me squeeze his hand so hard he couldn't feel it to keep from running up there and beating the Victor of Salem's Games to a pulp.

Then he was gone. He didn't see how much I was affected by Dallas dying, and West soon after him. He didn't see me curled up and crying after being raped by Dennis's mother.

"Damn the Capitol indeed, Little Brother," he says quietly. Rose gives us a sharp look.

"Oh, the kids didn't hear," Anse says.

"Dennis has heard worse," I admit sheepishly. Rose is already doubtful of my parenting ability, what else is there to hide?

"Right…"

"Anyways, let me get some refreshments…"

~.~.

-Kaspareks: Rebellion-

_Dennis_

Having a gun in my hands for the first time is quite the experience.

Our tall, thin instructor (with really, uh, defined [?] curves- not that I care) shows us how to hold the gun first. It's easy for me, though Hal fumbles before gripping it tightly. I can only hope that we end up on the same squad… Protecting this kid is going to prove to be harder than I thought.

She shows us how to aim, and shoot. The precision with which she hits the target makes my heart jump.

She turns to face us, her long, dark ponytail swaying professionally behind her.

"Time to practice, Recruits! Every bullet counts, don't waist it."

The other recruits are all much older than Hal and I, and they've probably seen just about as much shit as we have. We find stations to practice at, and the thought crosses my mind that I should probably say hi to Hal and tell him who I am.

Hal shoots his first shot before I even start aiming, and I take my time to make sure this doesn't miss. I hear Commander Dilaver's footsteps and feel her eyes watching us closely. I roll the sleeves up off my wrists and aim.

"Any day now, Private!" Commander Dilaver barks, and I practically jump out of my skin.

"Everyone else shot a century ago!"

"Alright, alright, I'm going…" I mutter.

"You'd better pitch the attitude right now, Private," she says, with a cold tone. "I'll leave you off with a warning. Shoot it."

I swallow hard and nod, pulling the trigger and shooting the gun.

"Kasparek 1 would've been shot ten times in the process," she barks to the other recruits. She walks to the target slowly, crossing her arms. "But, if somehow ten people would've taken bullets for him… Not a bad shot." She raises an eyebrow, her expression flickering for just a second to surprise before setting stone-hard again. After an analysis of the other's shots, she has us load up for another shot.

This time, I take less time to aim, though I'm still the last to shoot. She lets us shoot after that until we get a hang of it, though I feel her stare on me for an inordinate amount of time. By the end of our shooting session, I feel confident with my ability to shoot, though I still wouldn't last a second in combat.

Hal seems more shaken up, and when they make us run laps, he doesn't run quite as well as usual. I guess the guns just caused shit to get real for him, just like they did for the rest of us.

The end of training comes too quickly for my liking. I like _doing_ something instead of trying to read the schedule on my arm…

"Recruits dismissed!" The others file out and I'm about to follow when a hand grabs my shoulder.

"Kasparek 1!"

I bite my lip. "Y-Yeah, Commander?"

She puts an arm around my shoulders, "Walk with me, talk with me."

"Alright?" She walks and I walk with her, ready to lash out if she tries to touch me like Diesel did.

"The Districts need fighters. More fighters than we have ready to go."

"Yeah?"

"I got permission from the President to create a squad of recruits that are doing exceptional in training to be shipped off as soon as your training is over. It'd be a lot of Squad stuff and you wouldn't have to come back to this training. Think of it as advanced training."

"Uh…"

"I want you to join the squad, Dennis. You have it in you. You're a strong kid, I can see it. You've got strong in you."

I nod a little bit, not sure what to say.

"Bitchin' tats," she remarks. _She must not have been raised here_, I think.

My ears turn pink. "Oh, uh, thanks. I did them all myself." I know I shouldn't say that to the 13 people (they already think I'm shady and that doesn't help), but that's the only thing I have left to be proud of.

"Oh, did you?" She glances at the designs. "You seem to have quite the artistic hand."

"Yeah, I guess. I think I got it from my Dad." I smile awkwardly and she pats my back. "Where _is_ your Dad?"

"Uh, I don't have one. I-I mean, he, uh, he died. Shot by a Peacekeeper for singing. He was a real rebel." I know I shouldn't be running my mouth to someone I just met, but Commander Dilaver seems to be trustworthy enough and I figure that if I did lose my father because he was a rebel, the other rebels should know that. I add quickly, "And my Mom left me on his doorstep, so I don't even know who she is."

"Right." She doesn't look at me but she nods.

I scratch the back of my neck awkwardly, "Well, I have to get dinner…"

"Oh, good, that's where I'm off to as well." She walks up with me and we both grab food from the line.

She takes a seat as I get my rations. I look for Willow and Christian, or Proctor and Biddy and Hal, when I hear her voice beckoning, "Kasparek! Take a seat."

I slide down into a seat at the table, looking around.

"This would be your team, Kasparek." She turns to the others. "This is that trainee I was talking about."

I sink into my seat shyly. I have to be the youngest at that table by at least three or four years.

"Kasparek, this is McCarthy, Freedman, Grant, Barnett, Stewart, Stiltner, Shuman, and Timberland. Squad 185. The sister squads you'd be training with would be 195 and 205."

"Right."

"I want you to think hard about this. What have you got to lose?"

_Hal,_ I think, _And Proctor's promise. _

I pick at my food and nod silently.

"No need to be so grim, now!" one of the guys speaks up.

"Right…"

"What's your first name? And your age?" another asks. "We'll tell you ours if you say yours."

"Dennis," I say quietly, picking at my food, "I'm eighteen." I want to go sit with Willow and Christian or with my cousins.

"Nice to meet ya, kid! I'm Trace Timberland. 22."

"Kev Stiltner, 39."

"Irwin Freedman, 50."

"Ken Shuman, 43."

"Barry Grant, 64."

"Nelson McCarthy, 45."

"Warren Stewart, 24."

"Todd Grant, 60."

"And this here is Chinara Dilaver, our commander, she's-"

"Ken, you can't just go around telling women's ages to people!" the guy named McCarthy (?) scolds. The older men just laugh. The guy named Trace gives me a warm smile and I go back to staring at my food.

"Fifty-two," Commander Dilaver says curtly.

"Hey, that's my father's age. If he were still alive, I mean."

"Interesting," deadpans Commander Dilaver. The guys finish up their meal.

"Well, we have to be off, but it was nice meeting you, Kasparek!" Freedman says, with a salute.

"Uh, yeah, you too," I laugh awkwardly. The graying men go with Chinara, and the two younger guys linger.

"Hey, they can kind of be a lot to get used to," Stewart says, patting my shoulder, "But they always mean well."

"You're welcome with us," Timberland says. "Any time you see any of us, don't be afraid to say hi, okay?"

"Uh, sure." I don't mean that, of course, but I smile a bit.

"Alright, cool, talk to you later!" Stewart and Timberland run off to join the others. I sink down in a seat next to Christian.

"Hey, there you are!" Willow says, "I was almost worried!"

"You okay?" Christian asks, "You barely ate."

"Yeah, fine, it's just…" I bite my lip, glancing at Commander Dilaver and the group of talking men as they walk out the door, Timberland smiling and waving at me. The guys seem nice, and this is a great opportunity for me. Plus, Commander Dilaver is scary and I doubt I have a choice in this matter. But then I glance at Proctor and Biddy across the cafeteria, laughing wildly as Hal tells them a story.

I sigh quietly. "I'm just… Really… Torn."


	3. Stalloskys- Rebellion

-Stalloskys: Rebellion-

_Willow_

I sit on a hillside overlooking the vast woods about ten miles away from my home, which is going up into smoke. Who knows, maybe the smoke dissipated.

I stare at my hands, and then out into the woods. I strayed from the group, but at that moment I don't really care. I haven't found my sister, I haven't found my mother.

I trace a crevice on my palm. I really try to not get upset or angry, but sometimes it's too hard. When your home's become nothing but black ashes, it's _really_ too hard.

I should've gone back for them. Sylvester would've gone back and saved them. Sylvester would've run into the bombs if I were there. Dennis Kasparek never would've stopped him. Every day I try to be more like Sylvester, and every day I see that I can't even get close. He was selfless to the point of servitude.

I feel so bad. He starved for us, and we lost him. He's gone now. And I felt it hard, and Dennis felt it really hard. Dennis hasn't got very much left. He had a lot to start with, and he lost it. He's started calling it the Kasparek curse, because the same thing happened to his father.

I don't blame anyone for Sylvester's death. I know it's nobody's fault. He did what he did. Nobody would've convinced him otherwise. Nobody would've saved him. He loved us too much. He gave too much for us. We couldn't have stopped him.

My Mom didn't take Sylvester's death well at all. It's because he was so much like Dad. He had the same facial structure and eyes, and though they had different personalities, they were both selfless to the core. I know how much it hurts to wake up every morning without him there. I know how much it hurts to walk past the grave.

"Willow." I look up.

"Hi Sutter." My cousin takes a seat next to me, his feet dangling off the edge. His eyes are puffy and bloodshot.

"Have you found anyone?" I ask him. He was with friends when the alarms first started.

"Yes," he says, sniffling. "I found Brooklyn and Mom."

"What about your father?"

Sutter lets out a choked sob and wipes his eyes. "M-Mom says he didn't make it. H-He promised he'd be back, and he ran in the crowd to find me." He wipes his eyes, trembling. I put an arm around him.

"That's awful." I rub his back lightly. "But it's going to be okay."

"No it's not! I want District 12 back!" he shouts, through tears.

"Sh," I say gently. I don't want a big scene. I know from experience that a big deal is the last thing you want when you're a crying mess.

"I want my home back, I want my Daddy back!" he says, sniffling and wiping his nose.

"I know." I hold him close.

I know how he feels. I want my family back, too.

"I don't want this!" he shouts.

"Sh…" I let him bury his face in my neck. "You have to be strong."

"Before the bombs," he sniffles, "As Finnick was reviving Peeta," he takes a shallow breath, "Dad told me what it was like to lose his brother." He let out a pained sob before continuing. "He told me how it felt like he was falling, how he couldn't smile or laugh, how he didn't know what to do with himself. He told me about doing dumb things out of grief. He told me about being stuck in a void with no way out. He told me he hoped I would never have to experience that." I hold him close, he buries his face again in my shoulder. "Now I get it. Peeta got up… Why couldn't my Dad!?" I know he knows the answer to that question.

It's the same reason Sylvester didn't wake up. Because fate isn't nice to everyone.

"You can't resent them," I tell him, "You'll be doomed if you resent them."

"I…I know… But…"

"Sh. I know. I know." I don't want to make him talk anymore. He doesn't say anything and instead cries quietly into my shoulder. Rebellion is really hard.

I sit with Sutter until he dozes off, picking him up and carrying him back to the others.

"Willow!" I look up to see Dennis come towards me. He picks me up in a very tight hug, trying to not suffocate the child in my arms.

"How have you been?" he asks. He's been with the other men and boys, scouting out a plan. Gale seems to be the only one that remotely knows where to go.

"Rebellion sucks." I wish I had something happier to say to him. I'm always the go-to bottle of cheer. I always provide a smile and a joke and a laugh. But today I just can't do it. There's just too much weight on my shoulders right now.

"It sure does." I walk around, Sutter in my arms, looking out for his mother and sister.

"I'm really sorry," he says. "But I'm not sorry for saving you. You're all I've got." Great. Another burden to carry.

I know I have to help Dennis along. I can't even imagine the hell he's been through recently. And if I'm all he's got, then that makes it my job to be there for him.

Any other time, I would've been honored to take on the task. But now, I'm not sure I can do it. I'm not sure I can hold him up and Sutter and his family and myself. It's a big job for one girl to do alone.

_At least you don't have to hold the whole nation up on your shoulders, _I think to myself. _But Katniss and Peeta aren't emotionally attached to the whole nation. I don't know. _

I see my Aunt Hester, sitting with a curled-up Brooklyn on her lap. She looks up, her features turning from shock to a tiny, slightly pained smile.

"Willow!"

I smile a bit, as much as I can muster. "Hi Aunt Hester." She takes Sutter from me and places him in a bed of grass next to Brooklyn.

"He found you." She hugs me tightly and I hug her back. "He said he'd find you. I told him to not get his hopes up. But… It appears he knew where to look."

I try a laugh. "Yeah. He's good like that."

She lets go of me and looks behind me, as if noticing Dennis for the first time. "Who's your, uh, friend?"

"Oh, yes. This is Dennis Kasparek. He's my best friend." I see his eyes light up a bit at those words, and I feel good for saying them. They definitely aren't a lie.

Aunt Hester blinks. "Kasparek? You're a Kasparek!?"

Dennis blinks, in shock and shifting side-to-side awkwardly. "Uh, yes Ma'am. I am."

"Interesting. Are you Kyran's?"

Dennis's face flushes. "Yeah. Sorry for whatever trouble he gave you."

Aunt Hester glances at us. "Trouble? Your father was one of my very good friends." She blows the bangs out of her face. "Although he certainly _was_ a troublemaker." She smiles, a fond memory twinkling in her eyes. "He thought he was all suave and cool all the time when he was more a bumbling dork face. He also thought he was some master speed-dresser, but he couldn't even put on the right shirt." She laughs a bit, seeming genuinely happy.

"But if you were friends with Kyran… That means our father knew him too?" I ask. It's a little crazy to wrap my head around.

"Oh yes," she says, "Your father never saw eye-to-eye with Kyran but they were able to tolerate each other."

I playfully bump into Dennis. "Hear that? I can only tolerate you."

"Yeah, yeah," he says. A smile pushes across his lips and he bumps me back.

Aunt Hester smiles. "There's so much more to those stories… But I'm sure that will just bore you." Dennis and I exchange a look. It's so odd to think of our parents knowing each other. But we're both bursting to know more.

"Tell us more," I say, "Please. We would love to hear it."

"What would you like to know?" she asks.

"Did my Mom know him? Kyran, I mean."

I take a seat on a rock, and Dennis sinks next to me in the grass, tapping his fingers together and biting his lip.

"She did, but not very well. Your mother… She met your father a long time ago, and it was at Kyran's house."

"Wait, my house!?" Dennis squeaks.

Aunt Hester nods, her eyes twinkling. "It was the winter festival, and Salem had to babysit." Her eyes darken a bit. "Salem, he was your uncle's brother, and he-"

"Died in the Games. He was my Dad's best friend. We share a middle name. Penn."

Aunt Hester looks surprised, but she nods. "Yes. Anyways, Salem had to babysit your Uncle Holland and his friends. She was one of the friends. Your father and I went there, and a couple others that I could spend years telling you about. Anyways, that's how they met."

"And there was mistletoe there?" I think back to my mother telling me how she first kissed my father under the mistletoe.

Aunt Hester laughs a little bit, nodding. "Yes, there was."

"Did you kiss Uncle Holland under it?" I ask.

She shakes her head, her expression turning grim. "No, I didn't." It's obvious that there's something she's not telling us, but Dennis and I don't push it.

"Anyways, yes, it was me and both of your fathers and your Uncle and his friends and Salem, and…" sh blinks, as if remembering something she had forgotten. "Gale's mother. Hazelle Hawthorne. Yes, she was there as well. We were very good friends."

"What happened?" I ask.

Aunt Hester flashes us a small smile. "A lot of things happened. Heartbreak, the Games, and a whole lot of death."

"And me," says Dennis.

"No, not you. You happened after we all lost touch. Eventually the friend group kind of disappeared within the misery. And I married your Uncle Holland, but I never really got back in touch with the others."

"I don't want that to happen to us. Dennis, please-"

"It won't," says Dennis. I believe him.

"So, yeah, that's my story," Aunt Hester says, with a sigh. We sit in a brief silence before Dennis speaks up, sounding nervous.

"Uh, excuse me, but I have a question for you." He puts his hands in his pockets nervously.

"Ask away."

"Uh, not to be a bother or anything, but… My father had a thing for drawing on his newspapers."

Aunt Hester laughs a little bit. "Yeah, he did."

"Well, there are just a couple of symbols that always show up on the papers. And they have something to do with someone my father loved very much. And I'd like to know if you have any clue who it may be."

"Hm. Well, I can try to guess for you. What are the symbols?"

"A compass," says Dennis, "Is the most common. And that mistletoe stuff. And strawberries, too, and sometimes even little cakes."

"Oh…"

Dennis pulls two old pieces of paper from his back pocket. "Do you think they have anything to do with this?" Put together, the two halves reveal a realistic drawing of a person.

Aunt Hester gasps a little bit. "Where did you find this?"

"I found it cleaning out his things. My Dad's, I mean."

She looks up. "Cleaning out?"

"Yeah." Dennis scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. "He was, uh, shot by a Peacekeeper. For singing Hanging Tree."

Aunt Hester sighs. "Of course. I wish we could've reconnected." She looks overwhelmingly torn-down and miserable.

Dennis frowns and quickly changes the subject. "Anyways, uh, back to that. Any ideas?"

"Yes. This is West Sheffield. He and your father went steady for a long while. It was odd, because your Dad was not the type to be tied down. But he was, for a long time. I… I don't know exactly what happened between them… But after Salem's death in the Games, they took a break that became permanent. West's little brother Dallas went into the Games, and died there on the first day. The next day, word got around that West committed suicide." She sighs and stares at the ground, obviously haunted by the memories.

"Oh God… I'm really sorry… If I had known, I-"

"It's really alright," she says, drying her eyes. "It's good of you to care." She wipes her cheeks. "That's definitely West. The nose is a little big and the eyes a little round, but it's definitely West. It's great. Why did he never give this to him?"

We all exchange a look and shrug a bit.

"Probably because he was insecure of it," says Dennis.

"Probably. He wasn't much of a showy kind of person when it came to art. He didn't want anyone to know he was an artist."

"I didn't even know he was until I found that," says Dennis, putting it in his pocket."

"Your father was very, uh, interesting. I wish you would've gotten to know him the way I did. I assume he wasn't very good to you?"

"Not at all. He abhorred me."

"He doesn't take lightly to vulnerability. Especially not his own. Have you ever noticed that, Dennis?"

"Yes." Dennis stares at his hands.

"He saw you as a symbol of his weakness."

"…Yeah." His voice is an octave lower.

"What was that stupid saying he always said?"

"Kaspareks always survive."

"Yes, that. He never liked to admit that he needed help. He was probably more afraid of you than you were of him."

"I'm nothing but the embodiment of his failure."

"That's not true. Obviously you were born for a reason, and he got you for a reason. He had a reason to get off his ass. Trust me, you didn't know him like I did. He really needed one. He was a good person. Before that bitch-"

"My Mom. Do you know anything about her!?"

"Sorry," says Aunt Hester, "All I know is that she disappeared after having you. Never to be seen again."

Dennis sighs. "It's fine."

"Anyways, he was a good guy. He really was. But after your mother got to him, I can see how he wouldn't be. I'm so sorry you didn't know him like I did. Because if I told you that you reminded me of him, I'm sure you wouldn't be too proud."

"We're more alike than I thought. But I don't want to become him. I don't want to lose all my friends. And I don't want to be raped ever again."

I had been sitting quietly, but suddenly decide to speak up. "_Again!?_"

"Never mind."

"What do you mean, _again_!?" I ask him. I don't get angry a lot, but I'm definitely piping up a bit.

"Nothing!"

"Dennis Kasparek, you tell me right now!"

"It's nothing!"

"Who did it the first time?!" I cross my arms, trying to be very stern with him.

"Forget I said anything." He stands up.

"Dennis Penn Kasparek, you stop and you talk to me right this very second!" I jump up, raising my voice to a yell.

"Forget it, it's absolutely nothing!" Dennis says, starting to walk away. I run after him.

"Don't you dare run away! Dennis!" I shout, causing heads to turn (not like I care).

"Kaspareks always survive!" he shouts, and then takes off out of my vision.

I slowly walk back to Aunt Hester and sit next to her, sighing sadly. She pulls me into a hug and I sigh quietly. "Kaspareks are assholes sometimes," she says. I nod into her chest. "If he's anything like his father, which he is, he'll come back and talk to you once he cools down a bit."

"I know…" I sigh a bit.

"He's like a more attractive version of Kyran," Aunt Hester muses quietly, maybe as a joke, but I laugh a bit. "He's not nearly squishy enough for me. Besides, he's super gay."

"Just like Kyran. He's mini, more suave Kyran." Aunt Hester seems amused and happy to think it, so I nod. Dennis's father, or what I've seen of him, didn't seem too terrible. But from what I've heard, he's not a very pleasant kind of guy. Maybe he was, once.

I sigh quietly. "I… I should go find him."

"Oh, yes. Good luck."

I make myself smile. "Thanks."

I quickly hurry after Dennis, and run straight into someone else. I fall over on my bottom, and I hear a surprised squeak.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" he says, quickly reaching a hand down to help me up.

"Oh, hi Christian." I smile a little bit, as much as I can make myself. "It's fine."

"You can call me Twink. If you want."

"Oh. Yeah. Sure." There's an awkward pause.

"Hey, you okay?" he asks.

"Huh? Oh… Fine."

"What happened?" his wide gray eyes are full of concern.

"Oh, uh, just a fight with a friend." I stare at the grass.

"Ah, I see. Would you like to walk a little? I'm no brilliant philosopher, but I'm a pair of ears."

I smile a bit, genuinely. "Sure."

He veers me off course slightly. He's so gentle. And very squishy.

"What was the fight about?"

"Well-" I'm about to tell him everything (he has those kind of eyes that beckon you to tell him everything that's going on), but stop myself. I don't want to give Dennis's secrets away. That wouldn't be good of me.

"He was just… I was…" I plop down on a rock by the river and sigh. "I'm sorry Twink. I can't say much. All I can say is that Dennis is keeping something very important from me. That's all I can say."

He sits next to me, his hand gently resting on my shoulder.

"Well, I think it's good of you to care. But you may have scared him. I don't know Dennis very well. But he seems like the kind that may doubt himself sometimes. He might be afraid of you finding out whatever you might have found out. Possibly afraid that you won't like him as much or something of the sort. Sound right at all?"

"Yeah. It makes perfect sense. I'm just worried about him."

"He's Dennis Kasparek, though."

"Yeah, but… He's not as tough as he seems." I sigh quietly. Twin gently runs his fingers down my arm, and wraps my hand in one of his.

"I think you should give him a little time to cool down before you talk to him again."

"I think that's good advice." He messes with my hand gently for a while, and we sit in silence. Christian Twinkler is the gentlest person I've ever met. He can handle fragile things like me with such ease. And he always knows what to say. That's another thing about him. You can tell him anything, and he'll know exactly what to tell you to make you feel better.

He's young, but he's wise. Squishy, but gentle. Tender and kind. He keeps me anchored and optimistic. Yeah, that's Twink. I'm glad I got to know him. A very good friend.

After a while of sitting in silence, I remember why I asked for advice in the first place and stand up. "Thank you for everything, Twink. But I should probably get back to Dennis." It feels like an awkward goodbye. There should be something else for proper closure, but I'm not really sure what.

"Oh, yeah, sure. Of course. Good luck. I'm sure you'll do just fine. C…Come and find me later, maybe…"

"Yeah." There's a super awkward pause. "Right."

Then I turn around and walk in the direction Dennis ran off.


	4. Christensons-32nd, 35th, 39th, 40th 41st

**_A/N: Switching storylines a bit. Also, trigger warning in this chapter for self harm/suicidal undertones. Stay safe!_**

-Christensons: 32nd Games-

_Salem_

"Salem!" Holland skips ahead of me, "Come on!"

Instead of catching up with him like he wants, I stop in my tracks. I can't believe how much he's grown up. He's talking so well now.

My brother Holland is hard-of-hearing and last year, when he was 5 and I was 8, my family was able to get him a hearing aid. I've taught him how to talk (in return for him teaching us how to sign, he says). That's what big brothers do.

I catch up to him eventually and he takes my arm again. I always go to the market for my parents, and today they told me to take Holland, too.

I get very jealous of Holland. He's sweet and cute, too perfect for me. My parents are all about Holland, and barely even give me a second glance. He's special, happy, loving, all the things I'm not.

I walk along, Holland bouncing after me. I open the door of the market and go in, my brother close behind and holding onto my sleeve. I collect the usual items my mother sent us to get, Holland staying close to me and occasionally giggling and whispering in my ear.

I take my stuff to the counter, putting it on the table. Mr. Carroll appears just then, a kind and gentle smile on his face.

"Good afternoon," he says, smiling at me, "How're you today?"

"Fine," I mumble.

"Good!" squeaks Holland.

Mr. Carroll laughs, smiling at him with a twinkle in his eyes. "My, what a pretty young lady you've got there, Salem," he says. Holland squeaks.

"Uh, actually, Holland's my _brother_!" I correct him quickly. Holland doesn't seem offended, though.

Mr. Carroll frowns. "Oh, I'm sorry about that!" he says.

"No, it's okay!" Holland skips around, giggling like a madman.

I pay for and then collect our goods in my arms, scowling. Holland wouldn't want to be mistaken for a girl!

I hear a squeal as Mr. Carroll picks his little three or four-year-old daughter up off the floor. She has short, curly, black hair and these big, round, gray eyes. She squeals happily, burying her fingers in her father's hair and chatting to him in an excited voice.

"Relax, Annie," says her father, before turning to me.

"Do you need help?" he asks.

Big brothers don't need help. I shake my head. "No, thanks."

I start to collect Holland, but he stops me. "Also, Salem?"

I look over, still scowling a bit. "Yes, Mr. Carroll."

Annie waves to me, beaming. I wave back a little bit.

"Respect your sibling. No matter what Holland may want or ask of you. Promise?"

I grunt in affirmation. "Holland!" He appears from behind a table, his little pixie face lit up with brightness. "Come on. We're going home."

He takes a loaf of bread and stays close to my side as we walk out the door together.

"Bye bye!" giggles Annie.

~.~.

-Christensons: 35th Games-

_Salem_

"Indi would've_ offered_ to babysit."

I _hate_ Indi.

No, I guess I don't hate Indi, but I _do _hate how my parents compare me to a baby that was born dead. Maybe Indi, perfect Indi, actually would've been like me.

Imperfect, unhappy, violent Salem.

It certainly doesn't help to have Mr. Pixie Face, cheery, giggly Holland to be compared to. He's 9 now, but he's the baby. I'll always be 3 years older than him. He'll always be the baby.

Anyways, comparisons. I hate being compared to people. Probably because I will never be good enough.

I sit on the grass of our front yard the night after my first reaping, waiting for something to happen. Something good, something bad, _something_.

Holland comes out and sits next to me, which makes me heat up with jealousy.

"Hi Salem," says Holland, in that cheery fucking voice of his.

Every time he smiles, I hate him even more.

_I_ want to smile. _I_ want to be carefree.

What's even the difference between him and I?

I think it's love. After all, I only smile when I'm hanging out with friends. My goddamn parents compare me to a _stillborn_. Yeah, fuck them.

Holland speaks again. "Salem, I want to be a princess someday." I'm about to yell at him, but Mr. Carroll's words come back to my head.

I bite my tongue. "You'd be a very pretty princess."

"But I also want to be a prince."

"You'd be a dashing prince. You should be a prince."

"I can't decide."

"Maybe you don't have to." He should be a prince.

Whatever I said seems to satisfy him, because he squeaks happily, "You're right! Yay, thanks Salem!" He nuzzles my neck.

I shove him off. "Cut it out."

Stop being what I want to be.

Stop loving like I want to love, laughing like I want to laugh.

Stop being self-assured like I want to be, stop catching all the hearts I could never catch, even when I tried my very best!

He blinks big, sad eyes at me. "Sorry."

I sigh a bit. I don't like to be so mad at him. "It's fine. We're just getting a bit old for that, s'all."

We sit out there in silence.

~.~.

-Christensons: 39th Games-

_Salem_

"Bird. Egg. Food. Watermelon!" I sign with Kyran's words.

"Cake," says West, "Skyscraper. Strawberries!"

"Loser," mumbles Kyran, kissing West behind his ear. I feel sick. I take another drink.

"What else can we make him sign?" asks West. His gray-blue eyes roll back slightly as he laughs and snuggles against Kyran.

I look away from them, my chest heating up with the same hot jealousy I feel when I look at Holland.

Why doesn't anyone love _me_ like that!? Why am I so fucking stupid and unlikable!?

"Salem?"

I blink, the two lovers coming back into focus.

"Y'okay there?" asks West. His big eyes, round and full of concern, look gently at me.

Sometimes I think I could stare into them forever.

_Holy fuck are you drunk, _I think.

I look away from those two.

Kyran speaks up after a second. "You look…"

"Drunk."

"No…"

"Lovesick!" says West.

"Yeah, that's it! Who were you thinking about back there?" Kyran asks, taking another swig of alcohol and nuzzling his face on West's shoulder.

Vomit rises to my throat. I look away again and take another swig.

"C'mon Salem!" they poke and proble. A big-ass smile spreads across West's stupid fucking face.

I try to stay calm, but the bitter resentment sends me into defense mode. And when I go on defense mode, I build strong walls and lash out at anyone that dares come near them.

"You can tell us. Come on Salem."

I feel my temperature increase, even more-so when I notice West's stubble and how attractive it makes him and his messy hair but it's good messy, and those fucking beanies he loves so much, and those eyes and his cute face that makes all these stupid emotions, and his love of food that I totally relate to, and his arms that are pretty damn strong and his legs and the abs I'm sure he has and his hips and-

"Who is it Salem?" West lightly hits my arm.

I snap out of my daydream. This isn't some game. Nobody will ever accept me. They don't even do it now. I don't want to lose my friends, they're the only things that have kept me from just running away and waiting for death. I'm scared. I go into defense, hiding forever because I'm a fucking coward.

"Who!?" Kyran asks.

I blow up. "Shut up and stop asking! It's none of your goddamn business anyways! Just leave me the fuck alone already!" I can see the looks on their faces and immediately know I hurt them.

"Fine," Kyran says, downing a whole bottle and scowling.

I get up. "I'm going home. Good fucking night." I leave my best friends in the world there.

~.~.

-Christensons: 40th Games-

"_Salem." _

"_Go away." _

"_Please." Tears. _

"_I said, go away." _

_A tiny voice; round, wide gray eyes. "I love you." _

_I don't respond. _

"_I'll always love you." _

_He's gone. _

_Perfect Indi wouldn't have let him go. _

~.~.

-Christensons: 41st Games-

_Salem_

I wake up, bare naked, and stretch.

I hear gentle, girly breathing and look over. Hester still isn't West.

I get dressed, in a trashy sweatshirt and the rattiest jeans I own, and start on my way home. I decide to go the long way. The dawn is just breaking, it's still fairly chilly out here.

After we fought, I apologized to Kyran and West. I still haven't told them. I don't think they've truly forgiven me, and I wouldn't blame them, either.

Lately, I've been in a constant defense mode. I can't control it anymore. I'm sick of Holland stealing love from me, and I'm sick of everyone around me being so fucking happy while I'm still stuck in hell. Nobody even tries anymore, except for Hester, I guess. But even Hester nags me about not being a monster all the time. Like I don't know I'm fucking terrible.

I keep walking, having such dark thoughts as these.

At least it's my last reaping day.

I get home and promptly yelled at for being so late ("Where the hell _were _you!? You don't even listen to us anymore!" "Indi would've been here for Holland!") before I finally turn and walk away, up to the bathroom where the tub's waiting for me.

I strip and get in. The water's practically cold by now.

They're all distracted, not like they'd genuinely care if they found me. They might pretend to care, and get all weepy. They'd probably just yell at me, though. Seems to be all I get nowadays, anyways.

I take the sharp shard of glass and trace over scars. My hands don't shake anymore. It doesn't hurt anymore.

Nothing hurts anymore. I am numb. I am mean. I am violent, I lash out at the people I love because I'm afraid of loving them.

I bleed.

I sit and wallow in self-hatred. More than usual, I mean. I don't even cry.

I cried like a bitch the first time. Soon, I learned that you can't cry. People get suspicious.

Eventually, I black out.

.

I wake up to a knock. "Salem!"

"Go away Holland!" my voice is a bit hoarse.

"Come now!"

"I'm coming! Now beat it!"

I quickly make myself get up and dry off. I dress up in my nice reaping clothes and take the tub down to empty it. I shrug off anyone that tries to acknowledge me.

"Want me to take it?" Holland asks.

"No I don't want you to take it, Fucktard!" I shout at him. "Leave me alone!"

He squeaks, I push past him and take the water out.

I dump the water in the dirt, numb to the red tint. I wash it out so that nothing stains. The typical.

I drop off the tub in the front door before I start walking again.

One foot in front of the other. I roll up my sleeves for a bit, as the summer sun makes the outside warmer. I glance at the fresh red lines and decide I can't stand to look at them ever again. If only it were that easy.

I'm 18 now, and I'm in a relationship (or, well, "relationship"), with my best friend who's a girl. I'm pretty sure her goal is to "change me," or some shit. I can't be changed. And if I can, not by her. I try to play along, though.

She thinks it's real. I try to think it's real, too.

I'm afraid of breaking hearts, especially hers. I don't like to see her sad, after all, she is my friend. She's giving me a chance. Sometimes when we have sex it gets my mind off of things. Sometimes.

I wander a bit before I start to meander to the Square. I don't have anything better to do. I've found I'm pretty numb to reapings, now, too. The Games aren't all that scary.

I get checked in, and take a seat in my section. I roll down my sleeves. I yawn tiredly. I didn't get a wink of sleep last night, and not because of any weird kind of sex. Sleeping is hard.

More and more people start to come, and soon the Square is bustling with tons of different conversations and I have to stand to make room for other boys my age. Suddenly, I hear a voice.

"Salem." Kyran sits next to me. He looks pretty battered and torn, too.

"What?"

"What is your deal, man?"

"Shut the fuck up. I'm fine." I growl. Kyran Kasparek, my very best friend in the world, and here I am being a colossal ass to him.

"What's going on? Did I say something or something?"

"No."

"Then what? Just be a man and tell me."

The words ring in my ears. My temperature rises. "Don't you tell me to be a fucking man!" I say. I cross my arms, hurting just about everywhere by now.

He touches my collarbone, paling. "You're… bleeding."

I smack his hand away: hard. "None of your fucking business. Your perfect boyfriend just got here, go be with him." I hate how bitter it sounded.

"Are you… Jealous of West?"

"I'm not fucking jealous!"

"Have we been making you feel left out, Salem?"

Yes. "Of course not, I told you I'm fucking fine and we're all fine!"

"Man, I'm really sorry… How could we have not seen that earlier? I thought because of Hester and everything."

"She's fine. We're fine. Stop pestering me."

His eyes explode with hurt. "You can talk to me. I'm your best friend. We've been best friends since we were in kindergarten. Why don't you feel like you can trust me?"

"I can't trust anyone." I'm a fucking coward.

"Please-" the reaping starts right then, before either of us have the chance to say anything more. Good.

The escort shows us the video. Kyran whispers my name, but I pretend I don't hear him.

She picks the girl first. Antoinette Carroll comes slowly up to the stage from the group of 13-year-old girls. There are plenty of gasps and murmurs of disdain.

The escorts pick from the boys next.

"Salem Christenson!" I'm sure everyone breathes a sigh of relief.

One foot in front of the other. One step at a time, I go to the stage. I shake the terrified Annie's hand. I see Holland with his face buried in his best friend's shoulder. _Faker_.

Hester has a hand over her mouth, but no tears, just shock. Kyran's already found… West.

They'll do just fine without me.

Either I'm going to win and make my life better, or lose and have it just be fucking over already. Both of those sound just fine to me.

As we're escorted away from the crowds, I start building up my defenses.

It's going to be a very long couple of weeks.


	5. Christensons- 41st Tour, 49th

-Christensons: 41st Victory Tour-

_Holland_

Hester is there when I come to the grave.

It's been a hard couple of weeks. I can't believe it's only been six months.

Her cheeks are rosy red and her dark eyes look distant. I gently put a hand on her shoulder. "Hester."

She jumps up to her feet and whirls around to face her, eyes wide and pooled up with tears that run down her cheeks. "Oh… Sorry Holland…" she chokes out.

"No, it's okay. I'm sorry for bothering you." It seems all I do is fuck up nowadays, anyways.

Hester's eyes go back to the grave, and when she speaks up it's in a barely-whisper. I don't hear the exact words (I'm hard of hearing, and even with an aid it's challenging), but I think she says, "I'm not ready for it."

Her voice is quiet and small. Her eyes are on the ground, her hands tucked into the pockets of the much-too-large-for-her coat that I'm sure Hector wrapped around her earlier. She looks so small and vulnerable. Exactly how I feel.

I put a hand on her shoulder again, ever-so-gently, as a gesture of comfort. She wraps her arms around me in a tight hug.

_The first time Hester hugged me was when I was 13 and crying in the schoolyard after having been beat up by some of the upperclassmen. _

_She saw me crying into my hands and talked with me for a while, and I cracked open and told her all about what happened, from the _Holland waving his arms like some kind of witch_ jokes to the _We should beat Holland with a frying pan because that's what he's into after all _jokes. _

_Hester hugged me, and after a while, she joked. "Sorry about the boobs. Well, enjoy them." I laughed and was able to dry my eyes, thanking her profusely. _

_She had never told me her name after that day. In fact, I didn't recognize her again until Salem had her over while he had to babysit me. _

_I said, "Hey, you're the sorry-about-the-boobs girl!" _

_Hester thought that was very funny. Salem didn't think it was remotely amusing, though. _

Salem.

He was a really big part of my life, for better or for worse.

Salem was very lost, and very broken. I had promised I would always love him, and I still haven't broken that promise.

My love never really got to him, though. Hester's love didn't really do it, either. He needs someone very special to help him.

Needed.

He _needed_.

Hester hugs me tightly (her hugs, just like her brother's, are suffocating) and cries silently for a while, right on top of his grave. Eventually, she lets go and runs to her house, probably to get some alone time before the Victory Tour.

I kneel on the grave, the snow seeping into my knees and shins. The memory of lowering the coffin into the ground is still fresh in my head. My parents didn't come to the graveyard that day.

It starts to snow again, and I shiver, but don't move.

I've been so depressed lately. As much as I hate to say it, I've spent more time sad than happy these past six months.

It's getting better, though. My best friends have been there for me. I value one-on-one time more than anything lately.

Nowadays, I like to listen to others more than I like to talk, which is especially unusual for me. Usually I could chatter someone's ear off if they let me go. Now, I can't find anything to say.

I don't like to talk anymore because I have nothing bright or happy to say. I can't do any lifting up of others, I'm just barely breaking the surface!

That's why my time with Isabella has really been important. My other two best friends, Barney Bannister and Elizabeth Klara, are in a relationship, and their snuggling and kissing and giggling tends to get annoying.

Isabella and I take these walks together, and I listen to her stories. Most of them involve Hector Stallosky (at least 80%), and they usually make me wish I had someone I cared about so much.

Truth is, nobody in District 12 is really my type. But I listen to Isabella talk about Hector and try to feel happy for her.

I wish somebody loved me like that.

Sometimes she'd make me tell her a bit about my life, but I find that it doesn't help. I still feel upset. So we would just walk in silence. It still means something, though, the silence, because it's not an alone, _I just want to cut _silence, it's an _I'm comfortable sharing time with this person _kind of silence. There's definitely a difference.

I feel a pair of hands on my shoulders suddenly, and jump, snapping out of my thoughts.

"Sorry." It's Salem's best friend, Kyran Kasparek.

"It's fine," I say, so quietly I almost don't hear my own words. I reach out with shaking hands and trace the letters on the grave with my fingers.

"It sucks," Kyran says.

"Sure does," I mumble, sighing quietly. Understatement.

"Are you ready for it?" I can tell by the tone of his voice he knows the answer.

I don't say anything for fear of crying in front of him. He squeezes my shoulders.

"You can talk to me, Little Chris…" His voice catches and he freezes up, his hands tense on my shoulders. I look up and see his almost bluish gray eyes filled with tears, staring at the letters on the grave miserably.

"Kyran?" I ask quietly, to snap him out of it.

He manages a shaky sigh. "You're more similar than anyone would've given you credit for."

My throat tightens. "I'm not ready for it, Kyran," I whimper, squeaking. There's a pause. "I'll never be ready to stand up there."

He squeezes my shoulders again. "Me neither. Just when you think the nightmare's close to being over, it cycles around and bites you in the ass." I can't do anything but nod miserably in response. "You're going to see Luther Pultzer everywhere. He's a constant reminder that there will always be something missing."

A year ago, I never would've believed you if you told me I would see Kyran Kasparek a vulnerable, crying mess. And it's happened two or three times now.

We stay there a while, his hands on my shoulders, both of us silently staring at the grave.

"The Tour will be coming soon," Kyran says. I think he's said it more than once and I couldn't hear the first times. He takes my hands and helps me up. "You still need to get ready?" I nod.

He looks like he wants to hug me, but instead stiffly reaches over and pats my shoulder.

"I'll talk to you later." I nod, then turn around and walk home.

.

As soon as I step up on that podium, the tears come.

"Oh, Holland, honey," my mom murmurs. She doesn't understand (she mourned for a day and was completely okay again), but I take her hand and squeeze it for support anyways.

Looking over to the other side, I see Mr. Carroll and one of his employees that has been working with him ever since I can remember. Dilaver, I think his name is. Or his last name.

The Victor, the boy from 7, takes the stage. I can't remember him as anything but the person who took Salem's hand off with his axe. My stomach does a somersault.

He gives his speech quickly and doesn't look up from his notecard. His words soon blur together, and suddenly I feel like I'm falling, tumbling down an endless pit…

The applause snaps me out of it. There's only 5 or so people clapping, but it seems to speed up the process.

As soon as we're dismissed, I drop my mom's hand and run.

I run until I hit something. Somebody, actually.

"Woah!" I bite back tears. "Holland!" It's Weston Sheffield, one of Salem's old friends. He was going steady with Kyran, but after Salem died they suddenly took a break.

"Out my way!" I bark at West, voice cracking from tears.

Instead of moving aside, he takes me into a tight bear hug. I don't fight him; instead I just melt into his embrace. West gives the best bear hugs.

I bury my face in his shoulder, choking with quiet tears. Those are the worst kind of tears.

"Holland," he whispers into my hair. "You've been so brave."

I squeak with tears. "It doesn't. Feel. Like it," I hiccup, feeling absolutely miserable.

"Well, you have been." He says it in a soft, gentle purr, that makes me come close to believing him. "You've been a warrior, Holland. You don't see your own strength."

I let out a cry, wanting to pull away from him and give him a piece of my mind, but I just can't find the heart. I sink back into his embrace again, sighing quietly.

"Do you have plans?" he asks. I shake my head against his chest. I had planned to go back to the grave, but now that's about the last thing I want to do.

"C'mon. We'll go to my place. A change of scenery will do you well." He walks back, one of his strong arms wrapped around my shoulders. I don't try to fight or run away anymore.

He leads me back to his house on the nicer side of town. West doesn't look much like it, but he's from a rich merchant family. He has dirty blonde hair and blue-gray eyes, and appears to be a mix of Seam and Merchant. He says that his great-grandfather was from the Seam, which is probably where it came from.

He goes in, arm still around my shoulders. He lowers me down onto one of the Sheffields' plushy couches. I curl up there, tears coming back to my eyes.

West leaves but comes back soon, draping a blanket around me. "There you are." I look up, vision blurred by tears, and blink them away to see West clearly.

"Thanks," I squeak quietly.

West leaves again, and I sit by myself for a while, trying to get control of my tears, at least for now.

Suddenly, I hear the soft pitter-patter of feet on the floor in the hallway, and a small person jumps on the other side of the couch from me, giggling. He looks over at me and squeaks, sinking back into the couch shyly.

West comes back just then and hands me a glass of water, which I drink thankfully.

"Hey, there he is! Hi kiddo!" he says. The small figure jumps off the couch, giggling wildly, and jumps into West's arms. West puts him up on his shoulders. "I see you met Holland," he says. "Have you said hello to him?"

The younger boy sinks behind West, burying his face in his hair. He has wide, round gray eyes, and shaggy brown hair that sticks up everywhere. "Hi," he mumbles.

West sits next to me, putting the little boy on his lap. "This is Holland," he says. "Holland, this is my baby brother, Dallas."

The boy named Dallas squeals in protest. "I'm not a baby! I'm three!" He's still smiling, though.

"It's nice to meet you, Dallas," I say gently, trying a smile. He buries his face in West's chest shyly. He says something that I don't pick up on, but I think he says, "You too."

"Holland can talk in sign language, Dallas. Do you know what that is?"

Dallas looks at me, shaking his head. "What is it?"

West looks at me. I really do like to educate people, about sign language and disabilities and even sexuality stuff. I love to answer questions, because if people are genuinely interested in understanding, why should anyone shoo them away?

"It's how you talk to someone that's deaf and can't hear your words. You talk through sight, with your hands." I sign the sentence, smiling.

His eyes widen. "Cool!"

"There's a sign for every single word ever," I say, smiling. Probably not, but most of them. He beams.

"I want to do that, too!"

"It's a lot of work. How about we start easy?" I teach him how to sign simple things like _hello, please, yes, no, _and _thank you. _After a pause of almost crying again, I teach him how to sign _I love you. _I show him the sign for his name, art and the letter D. He giggles and sits between West and I on the couch.

"How's Kyran?" I ask West, after a bit of silence.

"I like Kyran!" Dallas says happily, "He's fun!"

West's smile becomes sadder, his eyes become darker. "I don't really know," he says.

Dallas seems to notice, his energy fading as he curls into his brother's side. "Did Kyran be mean?" he asks.

"No, it's… Not his fault."

There's an awkward pause, Dallas watching his brother with sad eyes.

"Hey Dallas, want to run to Mrs. Hateley next door and see if you can do anything to help her?"

Dallas nods, smiling. "Yeah!" He hops up and runs off.

"Mrs. Hateley is an elderly woman. She gives us good food when we help her out." The concept of someone being _elderly_ is completely wild to a poor Seam boy like me. I nod a little bit.

"Kyran and I are on a break," he says.

"I know." Boy, do I know. "But, I mean…"

"It's Salem," he says, looking pained to say it.

My head snaps up at hearing his name. "S…Salem!?"

West nods, turning off the TV, which is showing interviews from some Games in the mid-30's.

The room is silent now. He curls up on the other side of the couch, facing me.

"Kyran… I could see it in his eyes…"

I blink, heart beating harder. "Huh?"

"He loved Salem." It sounds like he has to force the words out. "Kyran, I mean. I… I could just see it. I just knew. From the look in his eyes… The looks he never gave me. The pain he never showed me." He looks at the ground and whispers something that I don't catch.

"Huh?" I feel so stupid that I can't even be there for a friend that needs me.

"I just… He didn't want to break my heart. But he had to. He was never happy with me like he was with Salem."

"But… Salem isn't gay." My eyes quickly fill with tears as I correct myself, "Wasn't, I mean."

"Here's something you're gonna learn pretty quickly, Little Chris." A flash of pain washes across his face when he says the nickname that Kyran coined, but he continues. "You can't control your heart. You can try, but you just can't. Kyran could never make himself love me. And I can't just make myself stop loving him. And even though it's an impossibility… Well… Kyran can't make himself stop loving Salem, either." He sinks further into the couch. "I love him, Holland. And he cares about me enough to try and preserve my feelings…"

"How can he still love Salem? Salem's dead!" I shout and it sounds bitter, but I don't care. It's true.

"How do _you_ still love him? How does Hester still love him? It's not much more different than that."

I bury my face in the blanket. Of course. I let myself admit I was wrong and try to be better. "Oh."

"Kyran doesn't want to dump me, but he's never going to be happy until we're apart. And that's all I want for him. No matter how against the odds…" he sighs quietly, sniffling.

My stomach flips just as Dallas skips back in the door, holding a loaf of bread. "Mrs. Hateley didn't need anything, but she gave me some bread anyways! Yay!" West takes it and breaks off a piece, putting it in my hands. Then he goes to put it away, and Dallas follows.

.

West's words sit with me, and they don't ever really leave my thoughts.

I learned more about life that day than I did in 15 years of growing up.

~.~.

_And so, in that way, I began to accept the fact that I was the only Christenson left. _

_I began to get comfortable telling people that I was an only child. It never felt right, and never will, but at least I could say it without bursting out into tears. _

_I lost contact with Kyran and West. I stopped talking to Elizabeth after she and Barney broke up (I tried to keep our friendship alive, but she always yelled at me for "taking his side" and eventually I just couldn't deal with that negativity anymore), and then life seemed to settle into a numb loop of getting up at the crack of dawn and working past sunset. _

~.~.

-Christensons: 49th Games-

_Holland_

I kneel at the grave on a breezy, chilly September 20th. The breeze whips my hair around my face and completely ruins my part.

I only visit his grave on his birthday each year, by now. I'm safe from the reaping now, 23 years old. It is nothing but a numb sting nowadays, but I still feel the need to come see it year after year.

I hear footsteps crunching leaves and look up. Hester nods at me in greeting before she kneels next to me, in front of the tombstone.

She whispers something that I don't pick up the first time. The second time, I get it. "You look like him."

I've gotten that a lot, the more I've grown up. At 15, I was already taller than him (and I haven't stopped growing), but most people could tell he was older because he had a much more mature air than me.

I was so childish and carefree, and it was robbed from me so suddenly.

Not to mention the lingering air of gender questions I've been dealing with.

Hester glances at me, and I feel her eyes on me and glance back. A thought comes to my head, quite suddenly.

"I'm about to say something crazy," I say. Is my aid running out of battery…? _Damn, I meant to charge it but the power went out last night!_

She nods a bit.

"Let's get married."

She blinks, stunned. "Huh?!"

"You and me. Let's get married. You're still not ready to love like that, and neither am I. We can be real informal about it."

"Holland… That's…"

"Crazy. I know. Just a thought. You can just pretend I didn't say anthing."

I stare back at the grave.

_I remember how possessive Salem was of Hester. _

"_Don't even think about her," he would say, "She's mine and she loves me, not you!"_

And here I am, proposing marriage to her on his grave.

But it's not real marriage. It's more a _We're both so damn lonely without himso we'll be so damn lonely together _kind of thing. Her heart isn't really with me, nor mine with her. So I don't feel too guilty about it.

She puts her hand on top of mine, tracing the letters with me.

She says something, but I see her lips move and hear nothing. _Shit, my aid's dead! _I feel hot anger with myself, frustrated. I tap the aid on my knee, but it's not going to turn on until I charge it.

"_I'm sorry," _I can't hear my voice, but maybe she can. _"Aid,"_ I try to tell her.

She taps my shoulder and I glance at her. She signs, in perfect sign language, _Yes, Holland. Let's do it. _

I wonder how she picked up on the signs. She points to me and to her. I nod, _"Good, so it's decided."_ I don't even know how I'm forming the words. She nods, smiling.

"I'm going to go home and charge this. I'll talk to you tomorrow!" _And plan our wedding, _I think. I know I must be shouting, but she just nods.

I walk home quickly, wishing I had charged it and feeling so damn stupid! I can't even function without this stupid machine! I wish I had Salem to be my ears like when we were kids. I try to hear something, the breeze, the leaves blowing, the birds, but nothing.

I slam the door of the house, but don't hear it.

My parents greet me and try to sign to me, but they don't have Salem there to help them anymore, and can't even make a sentence. I hate being so disabled and vulnerable like this. I quickly plug the damn aid in, sniffling but not even hearing my tears.

I sit in my bed that used to be his, ignoring any attempts to communicate with either of my parents.

Finally, my Mom leaves me alone.

While I'm laying there, I suddenly realize that I have a fiancé now. Pretty soon, I'm going to be on my own, and I'm going to have to step up and be a caretaker to a wife and (oh dear God no) a family. I would love a family, but not here.

I open Salem's bottom drawer, to the dusty, part-shattered jar with wads of money inside. The label says _Salem's Running Away From Home Fund. _He must've put every penny he received into here, with the exception of some of his work money that went towards feeding his family that he wanted to get away from.

Salem was such a confusing person. I wish I had taken more time to walk in his shoes, get into his head.

Anyways, I've been adding my own share of money to the jar lately.

I never anticipated using this jar so soon.

Suddenly, though, I'm going to need it.

I'm going to be a husband, the man of a house… Maybe someday she'll get me to give her a kid or two or three….

I don't know if I can step up to that.

Then again, I don't have a choice.


	6. Sheffields- 50th Games

_**A/N: Big trigger warning for self-harm (brief)/suicide. Be careful, readers, I love you! **_

-Sheffields: Reaping Day, 50th Games-

_West_

"West, please!"

I push past Holland, causing to fall on his fehind.

_He would've been safe. He should've been safe! _

"Calm down!" Kyran shouts, coming up in front of me.

I push past him as harshly as I can manage. "No! I won't calm down!"

_Dallas. My Dallas. He's 12!_

"Please, West-" Hester tries, but I cut her off.

"Get off my ass!" I shout, "All of you!" Everybody freezes. "He's my _brother_! You don't get it!"

Holland grabs me by the front of the shirt, his teeth clenched. "You really have the audacity to tell me I don't _understand_?!"

"Salem didn't like you, Holland! Alright?! Dallas still _depends _on me! So no, you don't understand!" I'm ready to punch his face. I'm so fucking ready to punch him. Right now.

Holland's about to shout at me, but Hester grabs his arm. "Holland."

"Let me go now and just walk away," I warn him, all of them. Holland hesitates, but he drops my shirt and, without another word, turns and walks away, Hester holding onto his arm. Kyran files after them, his head down and hands in his pockets.

I watch my best friends leave me and suddenly I know how Salem must've felt, nine long years ago at this time. Lashing out. He wanted his friends to be near, but fear, or anger, or jealousy, or sadness, crippled him.

I hurry to the Justice Building to see Dallas, fear pushing at my gut so much I feel like I'm going to explode.

I don't, though. No, I don't explode until I go in and see him there.

I stumble to and collapse on a seat, gasp, and then burst out into sobs. This isn't fair… This shouldn't be happening! It should've been me…

"West," chokes Dallas, hugging me tightly. He buries his face in my shoulder, then my neck. He chokes with tears. "West…" He gasps, "West…"

"I'm here," I say quietly, hugging him close. "I'm here, I've got you."

He squeaks and lets out pained sobs into my neck, gasping for air. When he looks up at me, his face is red and his eyes are bloodshot as tears drip out of them and fall down his baby cheeks. His round gray eyes look miserable and hopeless. His hair is plastered to his forehead from sweat and tear-stained hugs. "Please…" He whimpers.

"I love you," I whisper close to his ear.

I can't do anything for him. I can't be the hero anymore. I can't change anything.

When they said they're going to select twice as many tributes, it didn't seem real. I didn't understand what it meant until now.

Now, now that my baby brother's off to be slaughtered.

"West…" chokes Dallas. "West, West, West…" It's all he can find to say.

The kid's paralyzed by fear! How have we let this happen to us for fifty years!?

"I've got you, Dallas. Now and forever, I've got you. I'll always be with you."

He hiccups and chokes, the tears falling down his cheeks.

He still has a baby face, for God's sake! He's a kid! Not even mature yet! Too young… Too sweet… Too innocent.

"I'm going-" I pull him into my lap and hug him close, pressing his face into my chest. I can't stand to hear it from him just as much as he can't stand to say it. I can't even stand to see his face with him so miserable.

"Dallas," I whisper into his hair, "You need to come home. I need you. We all need you."

He gasps into my chest, but somehow manages to nod. I hold him tightly, the tears dripping out of my eyes, as he gasps and cries out into my chest.

My baby brother… I rock him on my lap, just like I did when he was a baby.

The more he cries, the more I cry in response.

"I love you Dallas," I say quietly into his hair, voice cracking.

"West,' he gasps, clinging to me tighter.

"Time's up!" the Peacekeeper says, his voice rigid, cold, and unforgiving.

No. _NO!_ Time_ can't_ be up!

Dallas… No!

I let him go gently, as much as I want to scream, and take one last look at my baby brother.

"I'm here," I whisper, "I'll always be right with you. Always."

The drag me away as I try to fight, gasping with tears, even though I know that it's not going to get me anywhere.

I can't do anything for him. I can't change a single damn thing. Once I'm outside, the tears come harder and I cry out, wanting to scream and tear something apart violently, or punch the wall until my knuckles bleed. It's not FAIR! Dallas is gone, and all I can do now is _watch _him!

Nothing is going to get my baby brother back.

Dallas is gone.

~.~.

-Sheffields: 50th Games-

_West_

The gong rings, and with it, my heart stops.

48 tributes run in different directions, but my eyes easily find the smallest in the pack. I see Dallas close-up in the camera, but my relief at seeing my brother alive doesn't last long. One of the boys from 2 grabs a mace, and just as Dallas tries to run past the Cornucopia, he's hit by that damn mace, right across the head.

My brother trips and collapses, the life leaving his round, gray eyes.

I don't know what I'm doing in that moment. I yell, my vision goes completely blurred. I punch my bedroom wall as hard as I can, screaming with an anguished cry of rage and misery and anger and fear and guilt. I punch another hole right next to it, until my knuckles sting and bleed enough that I come down from my rage and collapse on the bed.

_Dallas. _

I watched my little brother get hit by a mace and left to die. Some of the other tributes, one of which is from his very own _District_, trampled on his body before he exhaled his last breath of life.

He's gone. Just like that, he's gone.

He will be forgotten. Nothing but another blank face. Another faded tombstone.

I promised I'd protect him, and there was nothing I could do for him. I had to sit and watch it happen in front of my eyes.

He was _twelve. _He still had a childish spark in his eyes. He still dreamt, imagined, and played. He still made fart jokes, he still laughed like a madman when he was tickled. He still woke up and wanted to play with me. He still looked up to the adults in his life, and still obeyed their every order. He was a _kid_.

I was his older brother. I'm the person he always looked to. Any time he needed advice, or was confused, or had a question, or wanted someone to talk to, he came to me. He always said he wanted to be just like me when he got older.

He's dead. Dead and gone. He will never laugh again, he will never run and play, he will never wake up and look at the sunrise out the window.

Tears fall out of my eyes. This isn't fair, why'd it happen to him? He was a good person, a good kid! A much better kid than I ever was!

The room is dark except for the faint glow of stars out my window, and silent except for my own gasps for air and choked sobs.

"Dallas," I whisper, reaching for something that I will never get. "Dallas… I'm here for you now, Dallas…" What a lie. I outright lied to him! He wasn't ready to grow up, and I gave him false hope that maybe he didn't have to.

I promised him to his face that I'd always be with him. And I failed him.

"I'm so sorry Dallas…" I choke out. As if it matters now. It's too late for apologies now.

Not to mention the fact that I pushed out all my friends. Nobody is going to be there to help me, because they don't think I need them, and because I don't want to let them in, and because they're probably scared of me now! I sure am!

I stare at my stinging knuckles. "I'm sorry Kyran…" I mumble, "But I can't stop loving you. I just can't. And I'm sorry, Holland… You do understand… But now you're better off without me. I'm sorry Hester… You were only trying to help…"

I'll be apologizing until the day I abandon this god-forsaken life to join Dallas, my Dallas, and Salem, too.

"I'm sorry Salem," I whisper. "I'm sorry we abandoned you. You had a tough fight… You bled, you were scarred, you were dying this whole time, and we didn't even fucking see! I'm sorry! I… I failed you, too…" He fought for so much time, even before his time in the Arena.

I couldn't see how much he needed us.

He fought demons, shadows, hatred, and he did it all by himself. He was beautiful, and he never saw it.

We never showed it to him.

Now, here I am. The shadows hang over me, their evil eyes digging into my soul. The demons fly around, making sure I know clearly that I tried to save Dallas and I failed, because that's all I've ever been able to do for him and for everyone I've ever loved, _fail,_ nothing but stinking failure.

Dallas was the only person that still looked up to me. He was the only one that thought I would become something, someone important. He was the only one left that kept faith with my decisions, that never told me to reconsider. He followed me blindly, and I lead him on. I was that person, the one that Dallas wanted to be.

And, here I am, alone. By myself after having let him down overwhelmingly. He's _dead_ now. Anything and everything I've ever done or wanted to do for him has been made completely irrelevant. The memories that once brought me light and laughter now bring stinging, stabbing pain and thick, murky darkness.

The times I lifted him up on my shoulders, or sat and looked at the clouds with him, or picked him up from school or ate lunch with him or went and helped our elderly neighbor, they all swirl into demons that terrorize me. No matter what, I know that I failed in the end.

Dallas was depending on me, and I let him down. I couldn't save him, but even so I didn't help. I should've told him to fight, to kill and fear the consequences later, fear them when they come, because maybe his family could at least try to help him if he was just alive and well.

No matter what I would've told him, it's pointless. He was young, and from 12, with _47_ other people out to take his blood to get home to their own families. Deep inside, I know that it's true.

But the demons swirl into that thought and distort it. There has to be something I can do… Something I could've said that would've given him the help he needed. I should've done something to try and stop it. Who knows, it could've worked. If I had done something stupid and risked my life, I could've stopped it, maybe.

But if not, then I definitely would've died.

_Who cares? I would've died for Dallas, and that sounds like a damn good way to die. _

I should've done more, but it's all over now. No matter what I do or say, no matter how many cases I drink or how many people I fuck, it doesn't matter. The kid's still dead. Nothing's going to change it.

I bury my face in my arms, trying to figure out what the hell I'm going to do with myself now that he's set-in-stone, 100% for-sure gone. I honestly don't even know. And I don't want to find out.

"I'm so sorry Dallas," I whisper, voice shaking. "You didn't deserve any of it. You were nothing but good, your entire life… And I promised that I'd be with you, but now you can see how big of a fucking liar I am-" I freeze up.

Without hesitating, without _thinking,_ even, I grab a knife from the kitchen.

_Nice, easy, and simple now, West. Nobody's gonna wanna clean gallons of blood off the floor. _

I slit my arms, and then I slit my neck, gasping for air but feeling oddly satisfied.

_I'm going to be with you, Dallas. _

My hands barely shake, the tears don't stop or increase. I take a second to collect my thoughts, to bleed out and feel the exhaustion, fatigue, and general crappiness of losing blood. Then, I decide it's time to end it.

I close my eyes and drive the knife into my chest.


	7. Kaspareks- 38th, 39th, 57th

-Kaspareks: 38th Games-

_Kyran_

Stunning. Chinara Dilaver was stunning.

She was wearing a pink dress that had a lacey top that hugged her curves, a bodice that fit her well and made her look radiant, and a skirt that swept down and pooled out like liquid on the ground.

I felt like a huge fucking oaf, in my ripped and patched khaki pants and dirty dress shirt, hair sticking up (dammit it will not be controlled), sleeves rolled up to the elbows. I can't believe someone like her would really want to go out with someone like me. The funny thing is that _she_ asked _me_.

Chinara Dilaver is a rich girl that needed a date to our high school "dance," and I needed one too.

I'm just barely passing school. I work most all of my days away, and I'm not that smart to begin with. It's because of Chinara and my best friends Salem, Hester, and Hazelle that I'm ever able to sustain a passing grade.

Not that I need to be smart. Smart doesn't get you anywhere here in District 12. The only thing that gets you going here is _class_. Sometimes I think District 12 is more structured than the Capitol. The thing about District 12 is that our levels are fairly tightly-woven. The Seam kids are all in this together, the merchant kids all stay closely bound, and the few richer folks are often together.

Me? I'm a Seam kid through-and-through. My parents are lazy bums who work part-time and spend the other time buying and/or selling drugs (I'm still not sure which. I don't think I'd like to know). My brother Anse has worked tirelessly since we were just preteens to bring in extra funds. As soon as I turned 15, I went into work with him. The two of us split the work to bring in most of the money. My knuckles are all callused and cracked and black with soot, but I don't mind. Or, I don't mind usually.

I really mind now, though. Chinara has dark skin and long, black hair, like most Seam kids, but don't be mistaken. She could probably buy my entire house and all my possessions, and probably enough food to fill it. You might mistake her for being a Seam kid, but what separates her from us is the fact that she's… Well… _Stunning._ She looks radiantly pretty.

I feel like a real idiot even standing _next_ to her…

"You look…"

"Like a loser, I know. But, Nara, you're… You're _Stunning._"

She smiles. "Well you look very handsome." She holds her hand out to me and I take it.

"Come on, now." She starts walking and I walk with her. As much as she might say I look nice I can't help but feel so very awkward and out-of-place standing next to her. What do you say when the prettiest girl in school asks you to be their date to a dance?!

We meet Salem and Hester at the entrance to the school. Salem looks super good in his nice clothes, and Hester looks pretty okay herself, for a Seam kid. The dress she's wearing is obviously a hand-me-down, and I know because her breasts are practically overflowing out of it.

Ah, poor Hester. The bustiest person in the whole school. Not that it really matters to Salem and I, though. We're pretty used to it. Also, most of the kids in our school are afraid of him and I, so she's well-protected.

Her twin brother Hector sits off by himself.

"He's waiting for his date," Hester says.

"Shall we enter?" asks Salem. He looks brighter than I've seen him in a long time, and I'm glad. He deserves to be happy.

"Sure." Chinara takes my arm and we walk in together.

Salem grins at me behind the girl's backs and I grin back. Hector walks over, arm-in-arm with a girl from school who I also recognize to be from the Seam. She looks happy to be there with him.

I blink, surprised. "Oh, hey."

"Hi," they say. Hector keeps glancing at Salem and I, and I think he's watching and waiting for Hazelle to show up.

Hector still doesn't exactly, uh, how do I want to put it…? _Care_ for Salem and I to be spending time around his sister. Hester spends time with us anyways, though. She doesn't need to be protected from anyone, including us.

The party (if you want to call it that) is more like a gathering with some quiet music playing in the background. Clusters of students dressed in their nicest clothes hang out and chatter. This is nothing more than an excuse to get together with friends instead of working, but I'm not opposed to it. Just one night.

Hazel appears just then, in a gray, short-sleeved gown that is very simple and sweeps across the ground around her (bare) feet. Her date is someone I barely recognize (I've worked with him before I think, but never really talked to him). He's tall and strong-built with the Seam look: olive skin, strong and coal-dusty from constant work, slightly messy dark hair (and slight stubble), gray eyes, and worn-for-wear hand-me-downs that are presentable, at least.

"Hey!" Bright and cheerful greetings are exchanged all around.

I can't imagine how Chinara must feel, hanging around with a group of Seam kids through and through. It must be pretty weird. From what I've seen, though, she fits in pretty well to the rest of the group. It must be a personality type thing. Even though she's fortunate she's down-to-earth and just as perverted as the rest of us.

Chinara waves at some of her friends across the room.

"Want to go talk to them?"

"Oh, sure."

"Want me to stay back?" Gee, introducing a Seam kid as your date has gotta be awkward.

"Of course not! Come on, now!"

"I'll talk to you guys later!" I promise. Chinara walks off with me to meet her group of super-rich, blonde merchant kids. It's a lot of names I never cared to learn, and a lot of questions that make me fairly uncomfortable ("What do your parents do?" "How do you even live?" "How much do you work?" "Is it hard work?" "That must be a hand-me-down, no?") but I try to stay patient and smiling. Chinara flashes me an apologetic smile.

A boy with dirty-blonde hair and blue-gray eyes strides over just then, neat and clean-shaven, hair slicked back from his face, in a nice suit-coat (Woah.) and pants that have no stitches or patches at all.

"This is him?" he asks Chinara.

"Yes. My date, Kyran. Kyran, this is my friend Weston Sheffield."

"Hm. Unimpressive," says Weston.

"Nice to meet you too," I sigh.

"Be nice, West," Chinara says.

"West_on_, to you," he says, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

What a pretentious _asshole_.

"So then, you're the Seam kid that's going to get an in with the rich kids?"

"Frankly, I don't want one. I like Chinara, but the rest of you are just a bunch of prats."

"Kyran," whispers Chinara, but I don't care. I want to fight this guy.

"I like my Seam friends better. At least they're not stuck-up like you people."

West_on _cracks his knuckles. "Are you picking a fight?"

"No," says Chinara, "He's not." She flicks my ear (ow!) and then his. "If this is going to work you're going to have to at least respect each other."

"Absolutely not," he says, at the same time I say, "Not happening."

Chinara sighs.

"Where is your date anyways, _West_?"

"Weston to you!" he crosses his arms, looking livid. "I didn't bring a date."

I laugh a little bit. "Of course you didn't."

"That's _enough,_" Chinara says threateningly. I reluctantly drop it.

"I'll catch up to you later, Weston." She takes my arm and together we go to catch up with Salem and Hester.

On the way she whispers, "He asked me to be his date right after I asked you, so he's kind of bitter…"

I laugh. "Good."

Chinara rolls her eyes. "He's one of my best friends, Kyran."

"Well he's an ass."

"His ego's taken a blow, he's just jealous and bitter at the moment. He just needs to find another girl."

I still have a carefree smile on my face. "Right, right."

-_Two days before-_

I walk home from a hard day of work and feel absolutely exhausted.

"Kyran!" Chinara puts her delicate little hand on my shoulder. I look up, feeling absolutely repulsive considering I'm dirty and sweaty and all-around disgusting at the moment.

"Can we talk?"

"Uh, sure."

She takes my dusty hand with hers and starts pulling me along, running to the more open, meadow-y part of the District.

"Kyran…"

"Yeah?"

"Do you… By chance… Have a date to the dance?" She looks up at me with wide, hopeful but anxious brown eyes, brushing some of the dark hair out of her face.

"No. No, I don't have a date…"

"Oh, yeah." She giggles a little bit. "So… Would you like to, perhaps… Be my date?"

I blink. "Huh?"

"You don't have to, but I really wanted-"

"Wait. _You're_ asking _me_ to the dance!?"

Her cheeks get rosy and her black hair hangs as she looks at the ground. "Mmhm," she says quietly.

"You're a beautiful, wealthy, fairy goddess queen. And you're asking… _Me_?"

"Yeah. You don't have to if you had other plans, but…"

"You do know who I am, right? I'm kind of disgusting and poor."

"You're not disgusting. Will you go with me or not? Please, I'm dying."

"Of course I'll go with you!"

She looks back up, a smile finding its way across her pretty little face. "Oh. Good," she giggles. She takes my hand and squeezes it. I hesitate for a second before squeezing back. I mean, Chinara's been a good friend of mine, and she hooks me up with porn sometimes, but… This is still slightly unheard of and absurd, a rich girl showing interest in a poor boy.

"You're not worried about your hand getting dirty?" I ask, laughing a little bit.

"Were you just jacking off?"

"What!? _No!_" My ears go red. I was just working!

"Then I'm not worried about getting dirty. Y'know, I wouldn't mind getting dirty with you anyways."

My ears go red. "Oh. You're sure you're thinking of Kyran Kasparek when you say these things?"

"Yes, of course I'm sure. I like you, Kyran. I like you a lot."

"Oh. Wow. Cool."

She takes my other hand gently. Her hands are small, and dainty, and cold. My hands are cracked and rugged and stained with coal dust. Her skin is soft and smooth.

"So…" she says awkwardly.

"I like you too." I don't know how much. The difference between friends and romance has always been a question for me. There are boys I see more than friends, but then again I don't _think_ I'm gay. I don't know. I recognize that Chinara is beautiful and I really like her. So I guess I'm romantically into her, right?

She grins, and I notice her slight dimples for the first time. They're pretty.

She wraps her arms around my neck and smiles at me with her big eyes. She wraps her arms around me and moves closer. Up she rises to her tiptoes, and her lips cover mine so gently, so sweetly. She kisses me softly, slowly, innocently, like I've never been kissed before. When I kiss back, it feels like I'm diving into something completely new, soft and delicate.

She pulls back, her smile sweet and her eyes the color of chocolate (which I've only had once before, but man it was good.).

"Good?"

"Mm." I smile, running a hand through her hair. She giggles a little bit. "Do you have anywhere to go? Don't let me hold you."

"Me? No, I've got nothing to do."

She smiles, tangling one of her hands in my hair. "Yeah? Good. Want to spend some more time together?"

I smile, taking a strand of her long, silky black hair and tucking it behind her ear. "Yeah. Sounds like good fun."

~.~.

-Kaspareks: 39th Games-

_Kyran_

"Are you sure this is right?"

"I don't know for sure. But I feel like we could get somewhere." I set out the map in front of us. "The hole in the fence is here," I say, pointing at the spot with my pencil. "But it might not be big enough for us to get through. We'll just have to camp out and wait for it to die for a couple minutes before it comes back to life."

Chinara's round brown eyes glance at the makeshift map I drew. "I'm no cartographer, but based on what we learned about in our Dark Days Studies, I've figured that District 13, or at least the remains, are this way." I trace over the line I made with my pencil. "It's a shot in the dark, Chinara. Who knows, we could be wrong! Maybe District 13 is gone forever. It probably is. But there's hope that it's not."

"You want to go?"

"I'm done with carrying my parents. Anse is ready to move out, he'll be fine and accounted for. I'm seriously ready to go. It's up to you if you want to go with me."

"It's a risk."

"It's a big commitment. You still have stuff to be here for. We'll probably die out there, but I don't care at this point. I'm ready to go out with a bang, it that's what it takes."

"You're a rebel," she whispers, "A true rebel."

"Maybe I am. The Games are fucked up, and so is the Capitol. I want to leave here, find somewhere else to live, whether it be District 13-"

"I don't think it exists anymore. They're not bluffing when they say it was bombed, Kyran."

"I know. But I've heard whispers. Rumors. And there's that same damn bird! It's been over twenty years, Chinara, it's possible!"

"I don't think I can believe it." There's a pause. "But I want to go. I want to go with you. I want to get out of here, be unafraid of reapings, not have to worry about being controlled by the Capitol. Damn the Capitol."

I smile over at her. She smiles back. "When are we going?"

"Any day is fine. Probably soon. After all, winter's coming."

"Alright. Meet me with your stuff at the fence Saturday at midnight."

She looks at me and nods, and suddenly a song comes to my head. Well, not just any song. My absolute favorite song in the whole world.

"Are you…  
Are you…  
Coming to the tree?"

Chinara looks up.

"They strung up a man…  
They say who murdered three."

I look at the map, the plans to run away and never look back, to find out if the whisperings in the Hob about District 13 are true or just bullshit.

"Strange things did happen here no stranger would it be…"

I take Chinara's hand on the table.

"If we met…

At mid-

-night in the hanging tree…"

~.~.

"Where are you going?"

I jump, about to open the door and sneak away forever, but my older brother Anse is putting those plans on hold.

"Out."

"Out where?" he raises an eyebrow, glancing at my bag, packed full of paper, pens and pencils, clothes, whatever survival things I could find, a box of matches, and a key I got from Salem who-knows-how-long ago.

"Just… Out."

His features fall. "Kyran…"

"I'm just going out for a little bit, okay?"

There's a long silence. "You're running away."

"What?!"

"Don't."

"I'm not-"

"Kyran. I was your age once. I was sick of this too. I wanted to get away from it. I tried to run away."

I look at him quietly. "Anse, I just can't-"

"I stayed for one reason." His voice has started to take on an edge. "I was about to go, but there was one reason I stayed."

"Anse-"

"You."

There's a pause. "What?"

"You. It was all for you. I stayed in this hellhole for _you_. I was so close to leaving it all. But I came back for _you._"

"Anse…"

"You were young, innocent, you had light in your eyes, you had potential, and you still do. Don't throw it all away. It's hard. I know it's _hard_. You feel like you want to give up every singly fucking day. You feel like you'd be better off wandering or dead. I know how it is, Kyran."

"This _is_ better-"

"It's not. It's _not_. You have so much potential. You could be something spectacular. You can still do great things. You're still young, and it's still hard, and things suck ass, but you have your whole future to live for. Running away means your unavoidable death. Don't do it to yourself, Kyran. I _need_ you. Salem needs you, Hester and Hazelle need you, Chinara needs you."

"Anse…"

"I can't stop you. If you're going to go, then I'm not going to change that. But I want you to _think._"

"Right…" I still have to go meet Chinara at the fence. I can't stand her up.

I pull my backpack over my shoulders. Anse runs across the room and practically tackles me in a tight hug. He shakes a little bit, like he might cry. "No matter what you choose… I love you, Little Brother." His voice cracks a bit. "I should've told you more, but I love you so much."

I check the time and realize that Chinara's probably there waiting for me.

"I have to go." Anse jerks off me like he's having the worst time in the world letting go.

He swallows hard. "I understand."

"But I'll be back." I hear him gasp a little bit as I run out to meet Chinara at the fence.

.

When I arrive, she jumps up. I wonder how long she's been waiting there.

"You came!"

"Well duh." I pull the map out of my bag and mess with the rubber band that holds it rolled up.

Suddenly, the quiet humming stops abruptly and sends us into silence.

"It's off! Kyran, the fence is off, we don't have much time-"

I quickly take her hands and put the map in them gently. "Chinara, I can't do this."

"…Huh?"

"I can't go. I have family here, friends, that I need to keep watching over. Stuff is shit now, but there's a huge future ahead. I can't go, Chinara. I belong here, in District 12."

"Oh." The fence suddenly hums to life again.

"I'm sorry," I sigh quietly. It's not fair to her, I know.

"It's fine." There's a pause.

"It wouldn't be worth it. To go without you. You're the only thing I have left. My love…" She kisses me softly.

"Keep the map. Just in case," I say quietly.

"Okay," she whispers.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay. I'll see you."

~.~.

-Kaspareks: 57th Games-

_Kyran_

_I didn't admit I was gay until I woke up next to Weston Sheffield bare naked and hungry for more. _

_Maybe I find girls aesthetically pleasing, but I never realized true passion, true desire, true love until I woke up to him that day. There was nobody in the world I wanted to kiss more, feel more, cuddle more, talk to more than him. _

_Chinara and I were going through something rocky and put it on pause. _

_I went out to get some drinks. He was sitting across the room, but I could feel his eyes on me. He came over after a while and apologized for being a snot at the dance. His dirty blonde hair wasn't neat anymore (it was everywhere!) and he had some stubble (nice…). He asked me to call him West, and he told me that he'd recently come out as gay earlier that year. _

_We got to talking, and I found that I quite liked new West. He was down-to-earth, funny, bold, amusing, confident but not cocky, and, (most surprisingly), likable. _

_We talked a long time, we talked until he kissed me, and oh God it was amazing. His rough lips, the slight tickle of his stubble, the feeling of muscles and power… We were all over each other in record time. I couldn't help myself, every time he touched me felt completely new and rejuvenating. I literally felt like a virgin again, and in a way I was. I wanted more of it. _

_And that's how things ended with Chinara. The hardest thing I had to do was come out to her. That's probably the worst way to break someone's heart. She was my friend, I cared about her. I wanted to protect her feelings as much as I could. I comforted her when she cried. I tried to be there for her, be a friend. It broke my heart, but what could I possibly do or say to make it better? _

_That's how it started with West. We were addicted to each other as the weather changed from fall to winter. By the time of the Winter Festival, we had calmed down, but I still felt so strongly attached to him emotionally. We still slept together at least once a week. Anse moved out quickly that year, and I had the house mostly to myself. I understood what Anse meant when he told me to think, when he told me I had a future of happiness. I just had to find myself in all this mess. And I'd found how to be happy. Having West and Salem, Hester and Hazelle, made everything worth it. _

_Then things went South: fast. I fell hopelessly in love with Salem, and it ruined my relationship with West. Salem died in the Games, Hazelle lost contact after she got married, West committed suicide after his brother Dallas died in the Games. Suddenly everything became shitty again. I was left all alone. _

_One night, out at a bar, I ran into a familiar face, though. Chinara was bright and smiling, overwhelmed with happiness to see me. She tried to bring back the days when we were in love, but I still wasn't feeling anything. I had to break her heart again. Soon, before I knew it, everything became blurry. I don't remember what I did. _

_I didn't remember until I woke up next to her the next morning, and even then it was a blur. And I was mortified that it happened. That wasn't what I wanted. _

It's the midnight of the first snow that a loud knock on the door wakes me up. Things like that don't usually wake me up so easily, so I quickly decide to check it out. When I open the door, there's nothing.

Or, well, not until I look down, that is.

I gasp in shock. It's a baby! Its big gray eyes were open and on the verge of tears. There were two notes, each attached to one of its wrists. It wasn't moving, it was wrapped up in blankets too much to do it.

My heart freezes in my chest. _Fuck, I can't be a Dad._ _No way in hell. _

The snowflakes flutter around the dark night sky, and I know I can't just leave it. I pick up the basket and bring it inside by the dying fireplace. I find some more fuel for it, locking us in nice and safe. The baby doesn't say or do anything, but when I finally sit down to attend to it, I notice it's awake.

I take the notes off its wrists first.

_His name is Dennis. He's yours now. He doesn't have a middle name. _

The other one says two simple words.

_I'm going. _

I stare at the words, the words on both of the notes. Then I look at the baby, the embodiment of my weakness, the result of my rape! And he's watching me with his damn big eyes. He doesn't know why he's here.

"You have no idea how unwanted you are in my house," I say. My body quivers, my stomach fills with rage. "You have no idea what you are!" I shout. I rip the notes and throw them into the fire, watching them burn, burn forever. "YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH YOU'VE ALREADY HURT ME!"

Burn, burn, I want the notes to burn, I want it all to explode into a burst of orange and yellow flame until it's reduced to nothing!

"You're not supposed to exist, and I wish you were never born! And now she thinks she can throw you into _MY_ household!? After everything!? After I trusted her and she used me!? She thinks she can dump you on my shoulders?! She wasn't the one that was manipulated!"

Burn, burn, _BURN!_

"I never want to see another trace of Chinara Dilaver again, and she left me with YOU!" I turn to the baby. "She thinks I'm going to ruin my life for your sake!? Well, that's not happening! You're the result of my life being ruined! You're the product of something I never ever wanted! I never wanted you, and she's crazy if she thinks I'm going to do ANYTHING for you! BURN! BURN AND GO TO HELL!"

The baby starts howling with tears. Well, good, because that's just about how I feel, too.

"You BASTARD child, you embodiment of my weakness, my failure! You don't know how much hell I've already been through! You don't know how much I've lost! You don't know the suffering I've been pushed through! You don't understand how hard it is for me to even keep living anymore!" Tears push out of my eyes and I let them go. Angry tears, miserable tears, humiliated tears, grieving tears. I don't know who I'm angry at, if it's the baby or Chinara or even just fate, but the rage overwhelms me.

I shift my focus. "I LOST IT ALL! I have NOTHING! And you decide to waltz into my life just to TEAR ME APART! Why can't _I_ say no!? I DIDN'T WANT IT! I didn't want ANYTHING! I LOST THE LOVE OF MY LIFE!" Tears stream down my face. I haven't cried in so long… It was everything I've ever held back all at once. "Salem… West…"

Dennis howls and wails, waving his arms and legs.

"SHUT UP ALREADY! I know I'm disgusting and you're going to an orphanage the moment it opens! Shut up!"

I reach into the basket and pick him up, sitting down with him. He quiets slightly. I rock him back and forth in the little rocking chair I have, and soon he's down to a quiet whimper. I gently wipe his tears.

"I'm sorry," I whisper quietly, drying my own eyes. "It's not your fault."

He blinks at me, his gray eyes still glassy. I keep rocking him gently, and feel… Peaceful. Sorrowful, grieving, but… Peaceful. Dennis is warm, and soft, and so… Gentle. Fragile. I know I can't do him justice, but at least for the one night I have him, I'm going to try. Then it'll be off to the orphanage tomorrow. Or, well, later today.

Soon, Dennis is asleep in my arms. There's a little voice in the back of my head that says to keep him. He might give me something to live for again. A reason to get out of bed, a reason to live, a purpose, a _future._

But as much as I want that, I already had a future once in my life.

And I don't think I could stand watching it all collapse again.


	8. Kaspareks- Rebellion III

-Kaspareks: Rebellion-

_Dennis_

Willow looked determined as hell, and it scared the shit out of me.

"You're crazy if you think I can let you do this!" I tell her.

"You can't do anything about it, Dennis. I already signed up for it. It's already on my schedule. I'm going into training, and I'm going to fight."

"You're not doing it. _Absolutely_ not. Over my dead body."

"And why not?" she asks, crossing her arms. "What makes you think I'm any less able than you?"

"It's not that!" I say, "It's just… It's not worth it!"

"Oh really?" She raises an eyebrow at me.

"You can't, Willow! You can't! I can't even imagine… You can't… You're too…"

"You think just because I'm optimistic that I'm not strong? Is that it? Just because I wear my emotions on my sleeve that I can't kick ass? Is that it, Dennis?" She's not playing games here.

It's just ridiculous, alright!? Willow Stallosky is not a fighter and it will be over my dead rotting body that she would even think of picking up a gun!

"I think that you're not a killer!"

"Oh, so _you're _a killer, then!?" She asks.

"That's not what I'm saying!" I say, trying to keep the rage at bay. "I'm saying that… I'm saying that to do this you have to be the kind of person that is able to justify the death with the injustices, and I don't think you're that kind of person. You're too focused on the death."

"You think that just because I'm emotional that I can't handle it," she says, scowling.

"That's not what I'm saying." I've kind of run myself into a corner because that's pretty much exactly what I'm saying. "Alright, so that's kind of what I'm saying, but you know I'm right!"

"I know that you don't have any faith in me, that's for sure."

"Okay, but what if you die, Willow!?"

"Then I die for the same reasons you would. I die for Sylvester, I die for my father, I die for Orlick. Just like you, Dennis! Is that not enough for you!? He was my _brother_!"

I break eye contact, sighing. "No. It's enough. I just… Willow, you're my best friend. And I love you so much and we've been through so much shit together. And I don't want to lose you…" I know I can't force her to give up training. I knew it all along and somehow just hoped that maybe I'd be able to, but it was always a hopeless fight on my part.

"I know. I don't want to lose you either. We're both strong and we're both fighters. We're going to make it. Kaspareks always survive, remember?"

I smile a bit. "Yeah, I know. I guess you're right."

.

After another hard day of training with Timberland and Stewart and the other guys that are pretty good at this whole rebellion thing, Commander Dilaver once again holds me back afterward. I glance at Tim, unsure if I should be concerned, but he flashes me a goodwilled smile before racing off to the cafeteria for dinner.

"Don't worry Kasparek, you're not in trouble. Yet." She laughs a little bit, and I do the same.

I admit that I _have _warmed up to Commander Dilaver, even though she still kind of scares the shit out of me. I guess that's how a healthy military relationship should be. I like her because she's proactive and serious, and also because she doesn't make me eat every single meal with the Squad, which I really appreciate. I mean, I like them, but I feel much more comfortable eating with my cousins and friends. Tim's started to join me on these ventures, and his bubbly, optimistic attitude fits in just right with the others.

Anyways, I've gotten off topic. The point is that I like Commander Dilaver and I feel pretty comfortable around her, which is always a good thing for the people you're going to be fighting with. Oh, and she likes my tattoos, too. That's always a plus, especially when you're in a District of tight-necks.

Kind of like my Dad, in a way. She reminds me of him because she's loud and headstrong and also stubborn as a mule (but not quite as stubborn as Sylvester. Nobody could be as stubborn as Sylvester). You wouldn't expect her to be laidback, but she is, in a way. Not to mention the fact that you can see the fire of rebellion in her eyes, just like you could see it in his. She's definitely the kind of person that would sing Hanging Tree in front of a Peacekeeper and brave the consequences. She would do that whistle all day if she could.

Anyways, she puts a hand on my shoulder. "How do you like your squad?" she asks.

"I like them a good deal. I've made a couple of long-lasting friendships, I think."

"That's good. I told you that you'd fit in just fine here, now didn't I? Commander knows best." She ruffles my hair. Is it weird that I see her as a mother figure, in a way? After all, I never had one.

"Yeah, I fit in fine." I really want to eat.

"I won't keep you from your beloved friends and ration, but I'm using this time to cordially invite you to my compartment tomorrow night after dinner. Yes, I will have it printed on your schedule so you don't get chastised."

"Oh… Yeah, sure. Okay."

She fixes the hair she initially messed up from ruffling. "Splendid. I'll see you then. May I escort you to the cafeteria?"

"Sure." Together we walk there and get our rations. With one last good-willed smile I scurry off to my usual table with the crew. My three cousins sit together with Tim and Christian, chattering about something.

As soon as I sit down, Hal quickly gets up, his ration quickly eaten (and some of it on Proctor's tray).

"Hey, sorry Dennis, gotta run!" he says, with a small wave.

I glance between the others. "Where is he going so fast?" I ask as I start to eat.

Proctor looks livid, a cold glare in his eyes.

"Training," Biddy says, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Training?" Tim asks, his mouth full of food. "He might get chastised and forced to do community work for blowing off his schedule!"

"He knows that," Biddy sighs. "He says that during meals and before or after the schedule starts and ends are the best times to not get caught."

"Huh. Clever kid. I wish him the best," Tim says with a shrug.

"He's training so that he can leave us earlier," Proctor says bitterly. "So that he can be off on his merry way and not have to deal with us. Just like Dad."

"Proctor, that's not it and you know it," Biddy says, sounding exasperated. "Please, just go easy on Hal, he's doing this for us and the other District people. He's given you the talk, please just try to accept it."

Proctor crosses his arms and looks away, his lips tugging into a frown. "Hmph."

"Hey, don't worry Kid, your brother will come back to you," Tim says, "I'm positive of it. He's a real fighter."

"That might not be enough."

"Proctor, listen. Remember the promise I made to you?"

"I don't want you to die either," he says, putting his head down on the table. We all exchange helpless glances.

Willow sits down just then. With her is an average height, pale girl with big glasses and two pigtails that go a little past her shoulders. She tweaks the glasses and sits next to Willow.

"Hey," says Twink, lighting up like he always does when he sees Willow (like, seriously, please just put each other out of your miseries and start dating. Legit. Just do it).

"And who are you, Pigtails?" I ask, lounging back.

She makes a face at me. "Marx. Who are _you, _Tattoos?" she asks, with just as snarky a tone.

I laugh a little bit. "Dennis Kasparek."

"Marx is in my Training class!" Willow says cheerily.

"Well she's a real peach," I say.

"Aren't you just sweet-as-sugar yourself?" she fires back. Oh, so she's one of_ those_ people. One of the people who are just too much fun to terrorize because they just get so fired up about it even though it's something completely dumb and meaningless.

"Well, you're fast friends," Willow deadpans. I laugh, actually laugh, feeling so incredibly carefree in that moment. Even though everything's kind of turning to shit.

"Anyways, these are my lunchmates and friends, Dennis," Marx makes a face, "Biddy, Proctor, Trace-"

"Tim!" Marx looks pleased. She giggles a bit. "I've met Tim before."

Tim smiles and winks. "We _are_ both 13 natives, after all," he says, to answer the question that everyone was holding but not asking aloud.

"And Christian!" Willow finishes. Seriously, the way she gushes at Christian almost makes me puke. Yeah, yeah, I know that I got all gushy about Orlick, but that's different. Err, Somehow.

"Nice to meet you," says Christian, trying to smooth things over.

"You too." Pigtails starts eating her ration. She and Willow are practically shoving the food in their mouths. Hey, training is hard and it makes you work up an appetite! I have no clue how Hal is going to train instead of eat. Speaking of Hal...

I glance back over at Proctor. His head isn't down anymore, but he still looks upset. I wish we knew what to say to the poor kid.

"So, in other news, Commander Dilaver invited me to hang out at her place tomorrow night." Tim looks up.

"Oh, yes. She does that with her recruits. We're still not exactly sure why. Some said it's just to spite her husband-"

"Wait, she's _married_!?" This shouldn't really be a surprise to me but for some reason it is.

"Oh, yes," Tim says, glancing at Marx with a grin. "She's married to a rich weapons researcher named Rex Whittaker."

"Oh." Marx looks like she wants to say something but refrains from doing so.

"She doesn't really like him, though. Not a real nice, faithful kinda guy."

"Don't even get me started," Marx says.

"Anyways, it's either that or because she wants to get to know her squad members. More importantly, her squad members' _weaknesses_. So that she can make us stronger."

"Ah, I see." I nod. I don't even really know my own weaknesses. I guess all I can say is that I become too violent in my emotions, especially passion. And the weight of guilt for everything that happened with Orlick that still sits in the back of my mind, constantly.

"Don't worry though," says Tim, "It's a pretty normal thing, her inviting her squad to hang out. I wouldn't be too afraid."

"I like Commander Dilaver," I say, smiling. "She's a nice woman. I feel like she and my Dad would've been really good friends."

Biddy gets up to put her tray back, Tim following. Proctor plays with his food now instead of eating it.

"Hey, you'd better eat that, kiddo."

Proctor shakes his head, quickly getting up to put his tray away. "I'm not hungry," he says.

Biddy frowns. "Proctor…"

"I'm not eating!" We all exchange a glance. Proctor goes off to the next event on his schedule.

"Poor Proctor," Willow says.

"I think he just needs a friend, honestly," Biddy says. "A friend closer to his age. He is only 13, after all. And he needs something to do to get his mind off the fact that Hal's training." I think she's right.

"I might be able to help," Marx says. "I have a little brother: I know, amazing, right? He was able to survive that big epidemic: but anyways, he needs a friend too."

"Oh. That'd work. That'd be good for both of them."

Willow and Pigtails finally finish eating and get up to put their trays away. I don't want to leave yet. This time I've been spending with my friends has become precious, and I hate to give it up. But, soon, the group says their goodbyes and disbands.

They leave me in thought as to what I might find when I visit my Commander tomorrow night.

.

I stand outside Commander Dilaver's compartment and awkwardly bite my fingernails. I have no idea what to expect from this…

I take a deep breath and knock on the door. It takes a second, but Commander Dilaver answers it. "Hello Kasparek," she says, "Do come in."

I go in.

"You don't need to knock, you know. This _is_ District 13."

"I still prefer to respect privacy," I say.

"Well, come in then." She leads me in and I follow her, still a bit hesitant.

When I enter, a young boy jumps up to come greet me. He has reddish brown hair, glasses, and bright brown eyes.

"Hi!" he says.

"Uh, hi."

I recognize the girl on the couch in the back of the room. I recognize that face with the freckles and glasses and blue-violet eyes and the dark brown pigtails.

I blink for a second, stunned. "Pigtails!"

She laughs. I'll bet the little mouse was just waiting for this moment to come so that she can revel in my shock and horror that _she's_ my Commander's daughter.

"What's your name?!" the boy says, snapping me out of my shock.

"Oh, uh, Dennis. I'm Dennis."

"Nice to meet you! I'm Pax! This is my big sister Marx! We take our Dad's last name because we have to by law but we like Mom better and want to be Dilavers!"

"Pax, give him some room," Chinara says, ruffling his hair.

"Thought you'd seen the last of me, eh Tats?" Mouse asks, smirking. I know she and Tim were just sitting there and laughing on the inside and just waiting.

"Of course not. Even if you _weren't_ my Commander's daughter, you and Willow seemed to hit it off."

She sighs in a kind of dreamy fashion, glancing up at the ceiling. "Yeah."

"Well, please, take a seat, make yourself at home."

"You can sit on this couch right next to me," Mouse says, smirking. I do so, sitting and feeling really awkward. Commander Dilaver sits down and Pax jumps on a seat next to her.

"So, Dennis, tell us a bit about yourself."

I consider and shrug. "Not much to say. I'm from District 12, everything I ever knew was destroyed in the bombs. I used to be a tattoo artist back home so a lot of people here don't like me. They'd hate me even more if they knew I was-" I pause, and clear my throat. "No matter. My father was a rebel from the time he was a teenager. He would've loved to see this. I lost him a bit before the bombs, though." My face contorts into a scowl. "Sorry I don't have a happier story."

"No, I'm interested," Commander Dilaver says.

"Not much to say anymore. I found out that I've got cousins and didn't know it. And my best friend Willow is training, as well. Willow's a positive thing I guess. Her brother died of starvation last winter, and he was my best friend. That's how I met her, through him. Anyways, Willow's been good to me. She gives me all her paper rations because I use mine and get yelled at for drawing on the furniture and walls. I guess I'm rebuilding my life and my friendships here. But I don't have a good feeling they're all going to last. Because we're all ready to die for this cause. Losing isn't an option this time."

"Very correct." Commander Dilaver says. "What else?"

"Uh, I don't know." There's no way I'm mentioning Orlick.

"Tell me more about your father." She sounds interested.

"Oh, uh, okay. He wasn't very nice to me but living with him was better than being an orphan. I have some fond memories I guess, way way back when I was a kid. He always sang this song to me. Hanging Tree." Commander Dilaver nods. "But he was pretty bitter to me. He didn't like the fact that I existed because I guess my Mom raped him ad left me on his step. And he always projected that onto me. But… We more alike than I thought. He was actually an artist, just like me. I find the drawing I always keep with me, to make sure it's still there. I guess I wish I could've known the person he was before my Mom screwed him over. Because I've heard good things."

I glance at the tattoos on my arms. It doesn't take very long for me to find the compass rose there. I'd been looking at it for a long time. It was one of his favorite symbols to draw. So, after he died and I carved the grave (again, something I'd become very good at from a lot of miserable experience), I had a lot of time by myself. So I copied the symbol from one of his many doodled-on newspapers. Not all the lines are perfectly straight, but it was straight from his pencil. I trace over it with my finger.

Commander Dilaver looks tense and uncomfortable, shifting a bit and swallowing hard.

"Marx, Pax, can you please give us some time to talk in private?"

"Aw, Mom!" Pax whines.

Mouse gets up and takes her brother's hand. "C'mon. We can go look for Dad outside."

"Okay!" Together the siblings walk out of the compartment.

Commander takes a seat on the couch next to me.

"Is… Everything alright?" I ask nervously.

"Yes," she says quietly. "It's all fine." There's a brief pause. "You're Kyran's then."

I glance up at her. "Uh, yeah… Kyran was my father. Why?"

"Because. You may not believe me, but… I come from District 12. I'm your mother."

I freeze up. I don't like hearing that word from her. "Y…You did that to him? You're the person that sent his life to hell?!"

She looks at me with heavy, hurt brown eyes. To think that I liked her so much! "Yes, Dennis. It was me."

I try to process the emotions I'm feeling, but I have no idea what to say. "Wh…Why?" is what I stammer out. "Why did you do that to him!? Why did you leave!?"

"Because, I was young and dumb. Your father and I were the best of friends, and we dated for a while as teens. From then I was hung up. Even when he stopped loving me I didn't stop loving him. I still haven't. He was a rebel for so long. He had a hunch that District 13 existed from the time we were teens. He made a map, a plan to run away, and he wanted me to go with him. But he knew that his place was in District 12, with his friends and his brother. And I respected that." She takes a rolled up old piece of paper out of a drawer. "But he gave this to me, and I kept it. I always wanted to run away."

It's definitely his handwriting. Much messier than on his note to West, but definitely his.

"He came out of the closet to me and broke my heart. It was hard for him. I _know_ it was hard for him. But he did it. I couldn't, though. I couldn't even look at him without remembering what happened. So we separated. I regret that more than anything. The fact that I couldn't even be his friend. Because he really needed one." Her eyes betray deep sadness, and fear. They start to tear up. "After that everything went to hell. I didn't know everything he went through, of course, but I had an idea. And on that one fateful night I saw him again, and I fell for him again. I thought that maybe, just maybe, if he woke up next to me once, he might realize he was in love with me." She sniffles and buries her face in her hands.

"I was wrong, Dennis." She takes a deep, shaky breath. "I was wrong. It only made things so much worse between us. I lost any hope of getting him to look at me as even a friend. I was blinded by extreme passion, and I regret it every day I wake up in the morning. He didn't deserve that. I wish it hadn't happened." There's a pause. "But one thing _did_ come out of that day." I feel her hand on my back. "You."

I swallow hard.

"I wasn't expecting it. I carried you and birthed you. I named you. And you reminded me so much of him. I knew that my place wasn't in District 12 anymore. So I left you and I ran away here, to District 13. But I've never stopped thinking about you and your father." Tears roll down her cheeks.

"I doubt you'd understand. But I got so wrapped up in my love that I tried to use force to make him love me. And it was wrong of me."

Suddenly, a lightbulb comes on. "I do understand." She looks up.

Oh God. "There was this boy. That I knew. He was 14. His name was Orlick Bannister. He was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen before. He was the brightest ball of sunshine in that god-forsaken District. It wasn't long before I was completely hung up on him. He was so charming and likable. Somehow I got him to notice me, and soon we were dating. But I wasn't good to him. I loved him so much but instead of spending time in love I spent all my time in fear that he would find someone better and leave. I used pain and fear to make him stay with me. I controlled his life. I hurt him." Tears start to drip from my eyes and my voice starts to shake. "I made him think that was what love was. And one night things completely spiraled out of control. I gave him alcohol that he never wanted and I got him to be… Er… Intimate with me." I wipe my eyes but it doesn't do anything. "He was reaped and I did nothing. He went to the Games. He found an ally and a best friend, and he found what real love is."

I give up trying to stop the tears. It feels good to get them out. "I wanted to make it right, but I never could. He's _gone_." I feel a sudden rush of anger and hatred, all directed at myself. "I did that to him. I _hurt_ him. All because I was consumed by passion. I didn't treat him well, and he didn't deserve that!" I say, hating myself, just as bad as I hated myself the day he died, if not more! Commander Dilaver rubs my back lightly. My rage dies down to a quiet, bitter anger. Suddenly I speak before I can control what I'm doing.

"I'm sorry, Orlick. You deserved so much better than me. I should've seen it sooner. I should've told you how much I loved you instead of abusing you like that. You're gone now. You don't have to forgive me. But I'm sorry all the same." A sob escapes me, a real-life sob. I bury my face in my knees and cry into them, until I hear Commander Dilaver speak up.

"Kyran. My love. My one and only. Not a day goes by that I don't regret what I did to you. I loved you, but you didn't love me. Not like that. I would hate me, if I were you. I shouldn't have left you. I should've rebuilt our friendship. I always hoped that someday you would come back and I could make things right. But, you're gone. Too soon, you'r gone." She sniffles a little bit. "But hurting you was a mistake. A mistake that I realized too late. I hope that you're with West and Salem, and that you don't have a worry in the world. That's what you deserve. All the happiness the world has to offer."

I realize I can't bring myself to be angry at Commander Dilaver. She was just like me. Consumed by stupidity and love. And if she really feels bad (and she does, of course) and apologizes well (which she has), then I can't really be mad at her. I know how it feels. I need to forgive her like I want to be forgiven. I still won't be calling her Mom any time soon (that's way too weird for me), but I have to at least try to build something with her. So I hug her, to show my support for her. I do know what she's going through.

She hugs me back after a bit, tightly.

Somehow things might turn out okay after all.

After some crying and releasing emotions, Commander Dilaver lets me go and dries her eyes and mine. Then she goes to find Marx and Pax, and invites them back in.

"There's something you should know," she says, her expression set. "Dennis here… He's actually… Your step brother."

"Really?" Little Mousy Marx doesn't look like she believes Commander at first, but soon realizes that she's completely serious.

"Wow! A brother!" Pax runs over and hugs me. "Will he be staying with us, Mama?!"

"No, he won't. But I do hope he will visit often."

I smile a bit. "Uh, yeah. Sure."

Pigtails puts out a hand and I shake it.

Commander checks the time. "Oh, you should probably be on your way!"

"I've got time-"

"It's Dad. Dad'll never let you come again if he knows who you are," Marx says. "I'm right, aren't I?"

"Thanks for coming," Commander Dilaver says quickly. "I'm sorry it had to end so suddenly. I'll see you tomorrow at training." She quickly sees me out, and just as I'm leaving I see a tall man with black hair and a sharp jawline enter the compartment. He doesn't look like a very nice man.

I sigh a bit as I start walking back to my own compartment.

I'm going to have a lot to dwell on tonight.


	9. Kaspareks- 63rd, 64th, Rebellion IV

-Kaspareks: 63rd Games-

_Anse _

Rose is lying in bed. Trying to stay with me… Trying to do everything to keep herself alive and with us. I know she's trying so hard. It's all I can ask of her, really. She's been through so much and now her body is giving up on her when we need it most.

I get back at around midnight from work. I was among the last there, but finally they kicked the last of us out. Right now, every single penny counts. With a sick wife and three little children that need nurturing… Not to mention that (as much as I hate it) I have to eat some myself to keep being strong enough to work well…

When I get home, I try to be quiet and let the angels get the sleep they need. I wash off as best as I can with limited water and go to the bedroom Rose and I share, hoping that maybe she might be awake when I go to see her.

Just like every other day, she's asleep. Every time I see her, she looks paler and thinner. Her hair looks stringy, her eyes sunken. She's trying… All I can ask is that she tries…

I remember the brighter days. The days when she was so lively, and her cheeks were as rosy as her personality: and her name. I remember the good times, the three pregnancies that gave us the three sweetest children we could've asked for… I've seen people get some shitty lots, but I was able to settle down and start an amazing family. It took a lot of hard work but I made it.

I brush the bangs out of her eyes and feel her forehead to be hot and sweaty. My spirits sink. My beautiful Rose, and she's only getting worse and worse in health… I work the hardest I can, but I can't save her. Not sustaining a family of so many.

When Proctor was born, we were in a fine condition to take care of three children. It seems like a forever ago, really, but it was only five months or so. Plenty of fun-filled days followed, of our new big sister Biddy and great big brother Hal. So many smiles, giggles, fun times… That's around when Rose began to get weaker and sicker. As the snows of winter turned to the green grass of spring, things seemed to get worse and worse. A recession like none other hit and soon getting things like bread became a gargantuan task for only one person able to work.

I would call Kyran, but Kyran has his own life to live. We haven't talked in so long, not since Hal was only 2. He's 5 now, he can write his name and tell stories and imagine things unlike any mind I've ever seen.

It may not seem like a lot of time, but three years is a long time to not talk. Life just got in the way, especially around the time Rose was pregnant with Biddy. Besides, my brother has a child of his own to care for, and he's only one person, like I am. I'm sure he's not in a great place, and I don't want to drag him down. Not after everything he's had to go through already.

I have to keep on working, through the fatigue and exhaustion and pain… I have to be a good father, good husband, and a good provider. The stress is enough in a normal day to cause a breakdown, but I try to manage it as best as I can.

I change into some less dusty, less disgusting clothes and climb into bed next to my Rose. Her breaths are loud and they shake, and I place the gentlest of kisses on her temple. "Keep on holding on," I whisper to her, not sure if she can hear me or not. "Good night beautiful."

I close my eyes and go to sleep.

…

"Daddy…" My eyes are pulled open before they're let go again. "Daddy." I open my eyes. Biddy's bright eyes look at me, her head tilted to the side slightly.

"What is it, Honey?" I ask, trying to keep my eyes open.

"I had a bad dream," she says quietly. Oh. I sit up and lift her up into my lap. She's three years old now, but nightmares are pretty common in a place like District 12.

"Don't worry, Biddy," I say, my voice deep and tired from exhaustion. "No matter what you saw in the dream, it's all going to be alright. We're all okay."

She snuggles into my chest, clutching my shirt tightly. "You promise?" she asks quietly.

"Of course, Princess. I promise." She falls asleep and I put her back to bed, checking on Hal and little Proctor on my way, who both sleep soundly. Then, I go back to my room.

When I enter, Rose's gray eyes are open and she shifts a little bit. I run to sit beside her. "Rose!" I try to keep my voice down to avoid waking the kids. "You're awake."

Her breath is shaky. "Anse…" she says, her tone wispy.

"Rose!" I take her hand quickly, "Rose… Rose." It's really all I can make myself say. Her eyes look up at me, studying my face, slowly dying right in front of me. And there's nothing I can do.

I hurriedly light a candle to give her some light, and my eyes fill with tears almost immediately after I see her in the dim flicker. Her face has lost all color, and her eyes have lost their life and youth. I'm losing her. I wrap her up in my arms, trying to prevent myself from shaking with the sobs that threaten me more and more with each second that ticks by. Her body is light as a feather, dangerously thin, sunken, withered.

"Rose…" I choke out quietly, the tears falling freely from my eyes. "Please..."

She doesn't talk, but I know in those few seconds of silence she's bidding me farewell. Her breath shakes even more than it had been before. A sob tries to come out but I silence it to prevent waking the kids. I can find some way to tell them tomorrow… It's not going to be easy…

"Rose…" I whisper, trying to stifle the tears and sobs. "I'm so sorry…" I can't help but feel like this is my fault. I didn't do enough, I didn't try hard enough. She lightly touches my hand with one of her dainty, gentle fingers. She closes her eyes. I choke with tears, trying to keep my voice down to a whisper.

"Rose…" She fought a hard battle.

"Rose…" She did everything she could, and so did I.

"Rose…" I wasn't able to keep her here…

…

I take a breath.

"Good night, my love."

I'm a single father.

~.~.

-Kaspareks: 64th Games-

_Anse _

Through the springtime that followed, I got weaker and weaker. I knew I couldn't hold up this caliber of exhausting work all the time. The kids grew and developed so much and I didn't get to see any of it. At the young age of 6, Hal had to take responsibility for being there for them.

In the daytime, Biddy and Hal went to school and I had one of Kyran's old friends named Hester to babysit Proctor. Hester would stay with them through dinner, and they'd often eat with her children.

My three didn't see much of their father, that's for sure. I would've killed for some more time with them. By the time I got home, though, they were all cared for and asleep.

My little man, Hal, he had to step up to a lot of responsibility at such a young age. He didn't have to care for Proctor or Biddy by himself, but he did have to watch out for them and keep an eye on them and help them to behave. I wish I could've been there to make his life easier.

It was just another night when I checked on the kids, sleeping so quietly, when I realized how… Pale they were. How thin they looked, how sunken and malnourished… That was the night that I came to terms with the fact that I couldn't be the father they needed me to be. I've been getting so weary, I feel like I've aged ten years in these past few months. But one weary old man can't possibly provide for three young, growing children. I always knew it, but kept denying it… But I can't carry on like this. It's not fair to them.

My heart breaks as I watch them. So calm, innocent, quiet, peaceful. They know they're hungry, poor, starving, and they haven't given up on me, no matter how impossible it seems… _Can I really give them up? _It's not going to be easy to say goodbye, but it has to happen. I can't take sufficient care of them, and I can't reach out to anyone that surrounds me when they can barely hold up their own families.

I watch them a little bit longer, studying each of their features, my mind drifting away to Rose. These past couple of months have been so hard without her. Going on every day without her… It's torture. I know I'm going to have to say goodbye to my children, because that's what best for them. I can't keep them here, starving, helpless.

I make myself turn away from them and go back to bed, trying to ignore the pain that's bound to come tomorrow.

.

After school, I come home from work early. Seeing the light in the kids' eyes at seeing their father at home with them breaks my heart.

"Daddy!" Biddy sounds so joyful. He holds onto my legs happily. Hal looks up at me, his large brown eyes full of curiosity and wonder. I hold Proctor on my lap.

"Listen, kids…" I don't know what to say to them. How do I put this in terms a 4 and 6-year-old will understand? "Daddy has to work so much…" I start. Rose would've been so much better at this than I am. "He… He can't…" Looking at their little faces, their eyes wide with concern… It hurts so much to watch them like this… "Times are hard. You guys know that." Biddy and Hal nod. "And, well… Daddy can't provide the food you need to grow big and strong. _Don't cry in front of them, Anse. Don't cry. _

"We still love you Daddy!" Hal says. I sigh quietly.

"And I'll always love you too." I bounce Proctor, who sleeps soundly, on my knee, and ruffle Biddy's hair. "But… To get food for you, Daddy has to work very hard. He could do it when he was younger, but now that Mommy's gone, it's much harder." They look at me, their innocence unwavering.

"Daddy can't give you the food you need to grow anymore." Biddy stares at me, not sure what to feel. Hal notices my expression and frowns. "So he's going to find you a place that will give you the things that you need. We won't get to see each other for a very long time." I'm starting to second-guess my decision, but know I have to stand firm. It's not fair to them to continue their suffering like this. They're all dying slowly, just like Rose. I can't let that happen to them, even if it means sending them away.

"Daddy!" Biddy says, not sounding happy at this. Hal stares at me, not talking, not saying a word.

"I will come back for you someday," I say. "Someday when things look up. But for now, this is what's best."

"Daddy?" I stand up, holding Proctor with one arm and taking Hal's hand with the other. Biddy holds onto my leg as I lead them out of the house, toward the orphanage. Feeling their touch, their childish warmth, makes each step harder and harder to take. I have doubts flying around in my head, but try to push them away. This is the best thing for my children, and that's my responsibility as a father.

I know at the orphanage door, and am greeted by a young woman that looks so tired and worn-down that it almost hurts me. "Oh, uh, hello."

"Hi." This feels so incredibly shitty, but it has to be done. "My name is Anse Kasparek, and I can't sufficiently care for my three kids anymore." I try to keep my voice steady as Hal grabs my sleeve and moves closer to me, and Biddy hugs my leg tighter.

"Oh. I'm so sorry..." Her eyes convey her empathy for my situation. I try not to cry… Don't cry…

"I will try to be back for them someday, so please take care of them."

"Surely. We will take the best care of them that we can for you."

I kiss Proctor's forehead, thinking about everything I'm going to miss. His first steps, first words, first day of school…. "I'm sorry Proctor…" I say quietly. Then I pass him to the young orphanage girl. She tries to smile but looks sad.

I get on a knee to be my daughter's height. "Biddy… You're going to live here for a while, alright?"

"Daddy…" She looks at me with a frown. "Daddy…. No… I want Daddy!" She throws her arms around my neck, and I hug her back, tears coming fast. _Anything to see them alive and well… _"They're going to take care of you here. I'll be back for you soon." I kiss the top of her head.

"Promise?" she sniffles quietly, through tears.

I sigh a little bit. "Yeah. Promise."

After a little bit longer, I force her to let go and send her into the orphanage.

When I look up at my oldest, Hal looks back at me with glassy brown eyes and his knuckles in his mouth. "D-Daddy…" he says quietly.

"Hal. You're going to stay here." A tear rolls down his cheek. "Listen. Keep an eye on your siblings, alright? You're their last hope, so you have to be very good to them. Never give up on them, okay?"

"Then why are you giving up on us?" he asks, looking at me with teary eyes.

"I'm not giving up on you. I'm going to be back someday when I can get you lots of food to eat. It's going to be a while, but I'll make it back to you. Until I do, though, you have to watch over Biddy and Proctor. Okay?" He lets out a sob.

"D-Daddy…" I wrap my arms around him and he sobs loudly. "Daddy please!"

"I'm going to come back," I tell him. "I promise." I hug him just a little bit longer before I make myself let go. I hand Hal a small envelope and then gently escort him in with the other orphans.

"We'll keep them well protected, Mr. Kasparek," the young woman says.

"Thanks," I say. My voice cracks. The woman looks like she wants to say something else, or maybe give me a hug, but I quickly turn around and walk out.

~.~.

-Kaspareks: Rebellion-

_Hal_

I sit awake and look at the letter, the last thing my Dad left me. He always promised he'd be back, but he never did return. It's hard to not be bitter, but I really try. I know he did the best he could, and that times were really tough and all… But he could've at least come back once or twice to check on us.

I was the only one that even has a remote memory of the day he left, so I'm the only one that tries to see things from his point of view. Proctor will never stop being bitter over it, and Biddy isn't much better about it. I really do understand him, especially with this letter that he wrote for me. But the others are going to hate him forever. I wish it didn't have to be that way.

I've tried to talk to them about it, tried to get them to at least try and give him a second chance, but my siblings won't do it. I understand how much it hurts to walk in those shoes (hell, I _have_ been!) but they just can't seem to see things from a different point of view. He was exhausted and overworked and we still didn't have food most nights. He couldn't care for all of us, not after what happened to Mom. I understand that, considering I've had to work and try to uphold things. If only Biddy and Proctor would just try to understand…

Either way, our father is probably dead anyways. I know he would've come looking for us in 13 if he wasn't. Which means that we're the last three Kaspareks left. Right?

After getting into the swing of District 13 life, the heat of the rebellion fires up to a maximum. Soon, none of the Districts can sit still, everyone's out for the Capitol's blood and it's bringing us together. I've seen snippets of footage from the uprisings in District 8, and some in 11, and I'm stunned at the fighters' bravery. I wish I could do something to help them.

And it turns out that I can. So I immediately sign up to fight with District 13's forces. Our fellow Districts need us, and I'm not going to sit back and watch another rebellion collapse. I'm going to do all I can to help. I'm tired of being overworked and starved and watching the people I love be the same. I'm tired of the Games, of the dangerous working conditions, of the risk that I'd die every time I stepped foot in a mine. No more.

I sit in my little compartment with Biddy and Proctor, considering we were all up and ready fast enough to have a little bit of free time before breakfast. At first nobody says anything but I finally muster up the courage to speak. "Hey…" They both look up from the schedules on their arms curiously. "Guys… I have something to tell you."

"…What?" Proctor always reacts this way when someone says that. The look on his face says everything to me: that he's prepared for the gravest news I could possibly give in that moment. He already looks scared and slightly hurt. I'm sad that he can't see the bright side, and that his emotions have been so worked up lately… I wish I knew what to do for him. So far, since the bombs dropped, nothing I could possibly do could make him smile. He's starting to worry me. I know it's a lot to go through when you're only 13 but… I wish something could make him happy.

Unfortunately, this isn't going to be it. For a second, I hesitate. I don't want to dump all the heavy stuff on my brother's shoulders. I don't even know if he can take it, he's really young and really delicate.

But, the other part of me knows that the emotional consequences would be much worse if I didn't tell him, so I speak. "I signed up for the military. I'm going to start training on Monday."

There's a long silence. "Hal…" Biddy says, her fingernails going in her mouth. "This… Why…"

"Listen to me. I know what I'm getting into. And-"

"How. The _hell. _Could. You. Do. This!?" Comes the sniffly, angry voice of my little brother.

"You're not listening. I told you to listen."

"_You_ listen to _me_!" Proctor bursts out, "We _need_ you here! There are only three of us left, and I thought that we would stick together! Get through this together! And now you're _leaving_!? What if you _die_, Hal?! What happens to us if you die!?" He hiccups with angry sobs and I know that he's reached his breaking point. I knew it would happen sometime.

"Sh, listen. Proctor, I know the risks. But I will come back. I'm going to training, they're going to teach me everything about how to survive."

"That doesn't mean anything! You've seen the videos, you've seen the riots! You could have all the training in the world and _still_ die!"

"I understand the risk. I understand that you two are still young. I understand that there's a lot riding on my shoulders. But I also understand this. I understand that there are people out there fighting against the Capitol _together_ for the first time in 75 _years_. I understand that they're fighting for the same injustices we've suffered: hard work, no food, no money, deplorable conditions. They're fighting to end the Games. Imagine a world with no Games." That on its own would be a miracle. "I'm not going to sit back and watch. If the whole nation sat back and watched, the Games would go on forever. We have to _do_ something. And, for the first time in 75 years, we as one are fighting back. There won't be another chance for this in our _lifetimes_. I'm not going to sit by and let it pass."

"You could do something else, though," Biddy says. "Not every person that serves is in the army."

"Biddy, please…" I was depending on her to tide Proctor over.

"You're finally old enough to be our legal guardian. We could get out of our situation-"

"Get out. Fine. Get out to what? Biddy, everything we ever knew is _gone_! We don't have a home to return to. If this rebellion dies, then we're doomed. We'll have nowhere to go. Sure, there are other ways to get involved, but I'm not going to sit back and watch people rally. I'm going to act with them, as a team. Togetherness will get us through this."

She sighs a little bit. "It's just… I don't want you to-"

"I'm going to be smart." I glance back at Proctor, who stays curled up in a tight ball in his chair in the corner, letting out another sob. I walk over to him, still not sure what to do for him. "Proctor? Can we talk about this?" I put a hand lightly on his back.

"Don't touch me!" he sobs, so I pull my hand back. He lets out a couple more loud sobs.

"Proctor. Proctor!" I try to get him back with it, but it seems the more I raise my voice the louder he sobs. In hindsight, yelling at him isn't going to help anything, and I always knew that.

"I'm going to be really careful. I have a lot to come home to, and I _will _come home."

"Just like Dad!" he shouts out through his tears.

For a second, I'm stunned, and honestly don't know what to say. "D-Dad p-p-promised to come home," his voice cracks, "But he never did." He cries quietly before raising his voice again. "Fine, then, D-Dad! J-Just leave! Leave us j-just like Dad d-did! N-Never c-come back, just li-like him!" he shouts, tears streaming down his face. "H-He left us, and now you're g-gonna, too."

"I'm not."

"J-Just when things were looking up you're going to leave us. You can promise forever that you're going to come back b-but you m-might not. No matter what. Why are you leaving?" He looks to be attempting to control his tears but failing. I'm honestly surprised he made it this far without crying. It's a lot of emotions and he seemed to be tucking them away fairly well. I knew that something like this was bound to happen, he's only 13.

"This is a cause that's very important. More important than just me. And I want to contribute. I'm going to train very very hard so I have the best possible chance. But I can't just sit back and let others die for this cause. I believe in it way too strongly to do that."

"So you'll l-leave us."

"Only for a little bit."

"Piss off. You don't know that."

"I'm going to take the risk, and fight for a better future for all of us. There's no changing my mind on the subject." Part of me is starting to think that this really was a bad idea. The other part of my mind reminds me that it's important enough to take the risk. "You're just going to have to learn to accept it."

"How could you do this?" he asks, his voice teary.

"I told you my reasons already. They haven't changed."

There's a pause. He quiets down a little bit. Phew. He uncurls and stands up. "I just want you to know that you were my last hope." Hearing those words brings to mind the words in my Dad's letter. He used that exact terminology… Proctor stomps out of the compartment, sniffling, and the door closes behind him.

"Not your best move, dumping the news like that," Biddy says.

"He had to know. Do you think he'll ever be okay with it?"

"You could single-handedly take down President Snow and he still wouldn't be okay with it."

"What should I do for him? What should I say to him?"

"Right now? Nothing. Just let him cool down a little bit. Maybe he'll see your side of things if you just let him cool down."

I sigh dejectedly. "Yeah. You're right." I can only hope.

"Come on, let's go get some breakfast. I'm sure Proctor's already there eating."

She takes my hand and together we go out to the cafeteria.

I hear muffled sobs from down the hall by the storage closet, and something tells me Proctor's not already there.


	10. Kaspareks- Rebellion V

-Kaspareks: Rebellion-

_Proctor_

-_Can you hear the prayer of the children? _

_On bended knee, in the shadow of an unknown room? _

_Empty eyes, with no more tears to cry, _

_Turning heavenward, toward the light.-_

Sutter just heard the news.

It's hard when your cousin tells you she's going away to fight. It's even harder when your brother tells you to your fucking _face_ that he's going, just when you were starting to see hope for tomorrow. We had everything clicking into place, finally! And Hal just comes up and tells me that he's going! He could die out there and he doesn't even seem to care! What about Biddy!? What about me!?

Sutter flips some of the floppy hair out of his face and I notice his eyes pool with tears. "I j-just want them here…"

"They're throwing their lives away out there," I add. Watching him break down like this breaks my heart. I would cry with him, but I've cried so much in the past couple of weeks that I feel numb. Every time I see the mockingjay's face on the screen I want to smack her and stupid lover boy over the head with a chair. Yell at them for starting any of this. I want to be at home with Hal. He's 18 now, he could take us and we could start over. But no. Instead he's going to throw his life away and leave us here. What are we going to do without him?

"I…I get why… They want a world without the Games. I want it too, for Brooklyn. B-But…"

"They should find other ways to serve," I say, crossing my arms. "Ways that don't put their lives at risk. We need them here."

"I don't want Willow to go…" Sutter says, wiping his eyes and furrowing his brows. "Damn tears," he whispers, more to himself, wiping them away angrily. Yeah, that's something I understand, too.

"She shouldn't go. She's needed back home."

"I just l-lost my father…" he sobs quietly, burying his face in his knees and letting out a muffled sob, as if I couldn't hear it if he buried it enough. "I need her…"

"Did you tell her that?"

"Sh-She said my Mom will take care of me… And B-Brooklyn…"

My heart sinks. _Yeah. Sometimes I'm so damn used to being an orphan that I forget that some people actually have parents._

"Yeah." I can't help but sound bitter.

Sutter sobs into his knees and I don't know what to do for him. When Hal gave the news, I didn't want to talk to anyone. I didn't want them to see me cry. I left and hid, and Dennis found me later. Now, though, I don't want Dennis to protect him. I don't want Dennis to go at all.

I'll never forgive Hal, though. He knew, he was old enough to know that when Dad left he wasn't coming back, and now he's leaving us. He can say that he won't die all he wants, but that won't protect him out on the field. He knows the damn risk. They put a gun in his hands at training. He knows damn well what it means. And he's still going. Just like Dad.

I heard Hal and Dennis talking about it. They were talking about how Dennis was a really good shot. They were joking about how Hal kept missing the target. Laughing. Like this is all some kind of… Game!

Sutter sobs, and I don't know what to do for him. No matter how many tears we shed, no matter how we hold onto their sleeves, no matter how much we fall on our knees and beg them, they're still going to go. They're still going to leave us behind. They're still going to risk their lives. Because, whatever they're fighting for, they believe in it more than they believe in us.

"It's not fair!" he yells, causing me to shush him. Oh yeah, we're kind of hiding in a storage closet right now. It's the only place you can get some real privacy around here. Damn whatever it says on my arm. I've stopped looking.

"I know it's not fair," I say quietly. "But it's not going to stop them."

"I want District 12 back! I want my father back! I want to go back to how things were!"

"Sh…" That's a pretty unpopular opinion around here. We seem to be the only two that are against the rebellion. It's not fair that people like Hal are going off and dying for the Mockingjay's words and mistakes.

"I want my family," he sobs miserably. "I want to have them all again."

"Yeah. Me too." Trust me. I've spent so many nights awake thinking about what my life would've been like if Dad had never left us in that goddamned orphanage. I would've had family. Maybe more people would've talked to me. Maybe I would've had more to eat, maybe I would've done better in school. It's all a big what-if. Maybe Hal wouldn't be leaving us. Maybe my nightmares would be replaced by sweet dreams. Maybe I wouldn't be so scarred, so fucked up. Maybe I'd be a kid.

Sutter looks up at me, his dark gray eyes still leaking with tears. "What are we going to do, Proctor?" he squeaks out.

"I…I don't know." I shrug. "We… We hold onto the few people we have left. We wake up at three in the fucking morning with nightmares of what could happen, screaming and crying and shoving our sisters away from us when they're just trying to help. We get called dramatic babies, and stop caring because if anyone had to go through what we're going through, they'd be just as _twisted_ as we are. We-" I'm cut off when I'm being tackled. Sutter hugs me tightly.

"You've been living this hell, haven't you?" he says, accompanied by another sob.

"I was practically born into hell." I'm surprised by how flatly it comes out.

Sutter buries his face in the crook of my neck and lets out another sob. "Oh Proctor…"

"I'm used to it." I refuse to cry in front of him. In front of anyone.

"I'll always be here," he says quietly. "Please, don't hesitate to seek me out."

I shrug a bit. I've spent my whole life hiding in supply closets, this really isn't anything new. But I don't tell him that.

"Okay."

"I'm serious." He sniffles and dries his eyes.

"I don't doubt you."

"We should get to lunch," he says quietly, looking like he might start crying again. "I don't want to face them," he says, his voice a shaking whisper.

"We can find somewhere else to sit." He nods and gets up, and I do the same. We stop at his empty compartment on the way, where he blows his nose with some tissues and washes his face.

I bet _my_ good-for-nothing-brother isn't even at the cafeteria. He's probably off training during eating hours. Because he wants to leave us as soon as he can, of course. Recently he's been running his stupid mouth about some jackass from 8 who he's training with. If he says one more word about how much he likes the extra training, I'll… I don't know what I'll do. Maybe I'll move in with Sutter and Brooklyn. Ha, just kidding. I couldn't intrude on them. Maybe I'll just move out and take residence in a supply closet. Right now, that seems like the best option.

We walk into the cafeteria together and get our rations, looking for empty seats as far from Willow's table as possible. I tear my eyes away from where Dennis and Biddy are laughing at some joke she just told and sit at a table by a boy that looks close to my age with light brown hair, freckles, and glasses. He looks up when we sit by him.

"Oh, hello!" he says, but notices our mood and deflates.

"Hi," mutters Sutter. I don't talk.

"What are your names? I'm Pax. I've lived in 13 my whole life. Oh, are you from 12? Or 8? 5? I've always wanted to hear about life above ground. Is it-"

"I'm Sutter," he says quietly. "That's Proctor."

I'm not hungry, but I force a spoonful of stew into my mouth. "We're from 12," I say quietly, staring at the food I'm expected to eat.

"What happened? Are you alright?"

"Fine," I mumble. Always fine.

"My cousin signed up to serve," Sutter says quietly. "And Proctor's brother."

"And cousin as well," I add with a sigh.

"Oh. Well, that's awesome!" His eyes are light. "We've been learning about all of this in school, and I think that those who sign up to fight are so brave!"

He obviously hasn't had anyone- "My mother is a Commander! And my sister just signed up! And so did my step-brother!"

Sutter gives me a look that says that I should do the talking. I think that if he were to talk, he'd break down again. We hear Willow's loud laugh as she snorts, causing Sutter to swallow hard and lay his head down on his arms against the table.

"Aren't you worried for their safety?"

"I suppose, yeah. But they're going to be heroes! Fighting for the Districts. We'll have a cohesive future, less poverty, no more Games! President Coin is such a good woman. She and the Mockingjay are going to help set everything right."

That's biased bullshit if I've ever heard it before. "How old are you?" I ask, making a face as I spoon some more stew into my mouth, even though I'm not even close to hungry.

"Thirteen," he says cheerfully, before his face falls. "I'd be in my second reaping if I lived anywhere else but here."

"Reapings are the worst," Sutter says quietly.

"No, they're not. So many people are dying out there!"

"But so many people have died for 74 years," Pax says. I don't want to hear his bullshit but I guess he doesn't sense it because he keeps talking. "If you multiply 23 deaths per Games times 73, you get 1679. Plus 22 for the 74th, and that's 1701. Then they killed most all the Victors except for Katniss, Beetee, Peeta, Finnick, Annie, Johanna, Haymitch, and Enobaria. So that's…" he starts drawing numbers in the air, "…1768. Total. To the Games alone. That isn't even adding in the people that died working for the Capitol in the District, and the ones that died too early of disease, starvation, lack of good facilities, and malnourishment. Thousands, maybe millions. We need to start fighting back. And with the spark of the Mockingjay, it began."

I drone him out. I don't care what he has to say. I just want my brother. Fine, so maybe the cause is important. Whatever. Mass slaughter is fine, if it's for a good cause. But why does Hal feel the need to leave us and go to the battlefield? I will still not forgive him. He's just one person. What can one person do?

"Every person counts," Pax is saying. I don't want to listen to him and his biased District 13 bullshit.

I hear Willow call, "Sutter!" and see Dennis waving at me as they throw their trays away together and start to walk to our table.

"Dennis!" says Pax happily. Sutter quickly gets up and goes, and I follow him. He's not ready to face her yet.

Yeah, I understand that too.

~.~.

_-Can you feel the hearts of the children? _

_Aching for home, for something of their very own? _

_Reaching hands, with nothing to hold on to,_

_But hope for a better day, _

_A better day.-_

Music plays and I stand off to the side, scowling. Everyone is dancing together, jumping to the beat, some of the District people are showing the stingy folks from 13 how to dance.

Yeah, Finnick and Annie got married. It was nice, I guess. I wasn't in tears like some of the others were. I saw Willow take Christian's hand. All the girls were all dreamy, wishing they had a love like that one. Right now, all I want is for Hal and Biddy and Sutter and I to all be breathing tomorrow morning when I wake up. Each day the chances of that get smaller.

I linger back, watching the others have a good time as the occasional camera comes around. Both husband and wife look thrilled and laugh.

Hal is leaving _tomorrow_, and nobody seems to care but me. Not even he seems to care that this is his last day here with us. This might be the last day we see him breathing and he hasn't said a word to me. I spent the entire morning bawling my eyes out, and now I'm just exhausted and groggy.

A slower song plays with the strings, and suddenly Sutter appears by my side. He looks slightly tired out.

"Hey," he says. "How are you enjoying it?"

"I want to go back to my compartment," I say, scowling over to where Hal is laughing with a couple of his friends. He gets sent off tomorrow and he's still smiling and laughing. Bastard doesn't even give a damn.

"Well, while you're still stuck here… May I have this dance?" Sutter holds out a hand to me. "I was saving the best one for you."

I hesitate, but then take his hand and let him guide me. The pattern of the waltz is easy enough, especially because neither Sutter nor I actually know how to do it.

"I heard about Hal… How're you holding up?"

"Fine," I lie. He pulls me slightly closer and shakes his head.

"It's hard. It's going to be really hard. You can't deny that."

"Yeah, but I'll be fine." I've already been not fine for weeks preparing for it anyways. What does it matter? I've been having nightmares about what'll happen when he's gone ever since he said he was going to train.

"I'm sure you will be." He spins me around and I get a glance at Willow and Christian dancing together, smiling at each other.

"Of course." I don't even try to not scowl. I can't help it. Tomorrow he'll be gone. It'll be 4 in the morning and I'll be grabbing onto his ankles, sobbing and begging him to stay. I hate him, but I'm still desperate to have him here. Even if I know nothing I say will stop him from leaving, I'm going to be clinging to him anyways. Even if I tell myself I won't.

"I reconciled with Willow," he says. "You can't have your last words to him be angry, if it were to come to that."

"I don't care. I hate him." Nothing will change my mind.

"Hopefully you change your mind tomorrow."

"I won't."

He holds me close and sways to the beat a little longer. I glance over and see Dennis dancing with a girl with pigtails, who isn't looking at him, and is instead giving glances to Willow and Christian.

"Pax is nice," Sutter says, pointing out where he dances with Sutter's little sister Brooklyn. "He takes really good care of her. He offered to keep eating with us."

"Fine. I don't care." It comes out so angry and bitter. Fine. See if I care.

"I'm still here for you," he says. "Still here, dear."

My ears burn red. "Shush. Don't call me that." I would flick him if I wasn't so comfortable in the position we've found ourselves in, swaying side to side gently. The music keeps playing.

"You know Proctor… It's… It's okay to not be okay." He glances into my eyes for a second, and suddenly I can't control the misery that overflows me. I rest my head on his shoulder sadly. Putting my trust in someone is really hard for me.

"Thanks," I say quietly, voice shaking. "I'm just… Really gonna miss him. 'Nd be afraid for him." Tears push at my eyes, _again_, and I bury my face in his neck.

"You should make sure he knows that before he goes."

We spend the rest of the song and the next two and a half songs in that position, in silence.

~.~.

_-Can you hear the voice of the children? _

_Softly pleading. _

_For silence in the shattered world.-_

When I wake up, Hal is sitting on my bed, stroking my hair gently. It can't be past 4 in the morning. I assume he's dressed up to go, but I don't open my eyes.

He's really going.

Tomorrow morning when I wake up, he won't be there.

"I hope you understand someday," he says quietly. "Why I have to go." He strokes my hair gently. "I hope you understand that it's not because I want to go. It's because I want a future for you where you'll be able to eat. If we win, you'll understand. And if we lose, maybe you'll still understand. When I get back…" he takes a bit of a shaking breath. "When," he repeats to himself quietly.

I thought I'd be angry and violent and hold his ankles all the way to the door. But, in the moment, I fail to feel any desperation or anger.

"Hal." I hear Biddy's voice quietly. "You should get going."

His hand and its warmth are pulled away from my head.

"Yeah. I know."

I jump out of bed and throw my arms around my brother. I don't want my last words to him to be angry. I thought I did, but I don't.

Hal seems surprised. The tears start to come back and I let the sobs come out. No more running away. I sob and bury my face in Hal's stomach.

"Proctor…"

"Hal…" I hiccup with tears, letting another sob escape. "I'll be thinking about you… A-All the time… P-Please be safe… Come home… I don't hate you, I don't!" I sob, and my brother hugs me back. "I love you Hal!" I say quietly, through tears. "I'm sorry I've been mad but I still love you please come home!"

"I'm going to do everything I can to try Little Brother," he says, kissing the top of my head softly. "I have to go now. But thank you for apologizing. I love you too. So much."

Hal lets go and I savor the last second of the hug, the last time I can feel his warmth, smell in his scent. Then, I surprise myself and both of them. I let go of him without a fight. I step back, where Biddy puts her arms around my shoulders and holds me close to her. I can feel her breaths being slightly jagged as she tries to keep tears away from both of our sakes.

"Love you guys. I'll be back before you know it."

"Love you too," we say at the same time, in hushed voices.

Hal turns around and leaves. I cling to Biddy and we watch him as he goes, the door of the compartment closing.

"You okay?" she asks me, her voice shaking as tears pour out of her eyes.

I just hug her tightly. "You don't need to hold back for my sake, Biddy," I say quietly, voice shaking. I hear her let out a small sob.

"I'm going to miss him when he's away," she says quietly, voice shaking.

"Me too," I say quietly.

She takes me back to her bed, and wraps both of us up in a blanket that's still warm with his body heat. It still smells like him as well. Biddy and I stay curled up like that for a long time. We sit in silence, not saying anything but communicating all the words in the world. IT's at least a half an hour of us crying quietly and staring at the door before Biddy speaks.

"I'm not going anywhere," she whispers quietly. "Ever."

I nod and feel sleepy, curling up against my sister and feeling her breathe gently. Then, I close my eyes, feeling her warmth.

I drift off slowly into the first real sleep I've had in months.

~.~.

_**A/N: This story's not dead yet! With my other projects it was kind of shoved off to the side, but I want to bring life to it! Plus I need to figure out the fates of the various rebellion characters. But hey, we'll see! I think I'll go to flashbacks now with that closure, so what would you guys like to see? Let me know! Thanks for reading! **_


	11. Stalloskys and Kaspareks: Rebellion

-Stalloskys: Rebellion-

_Willow_

I wasn't surprised when I was pulled into the storage closet after dinner. In fact, I was expecting it. The light flickers on automatically, and I smile at seeing Christian's face there, watching me. His features soften at my smile.

"Did you mean what you said? About getting shipped out…"

"Yeah," I say, smiling up at him. "It's… Exciting that I have this chance. To change things. To serve my people. You know, right?" I ask, taking his hands in mine. His hands are always warm, as opposed to mine, which are always cold. He wraps my hand in his and squeezes it ever-so gently.

"Yeah, I know. You have a lot to fight for."

"I have to get my revenge. They killed my family. My father in the mines, my sister and mother in the bombs… Sylvester…" My eyes pool thinking about them. I do everything to keep from crying now, in front of Christian. It's not fair to him to see me like this, if anything, I should be comforting him…

"Hey now, you're going to do it. You're going to use what you learned and serve like a badass. You'll come back, and so will I, and we can figure out what to do after that. How's that sound?"

I glance up into his eyes, so gentle and warm. He makes me feel so safe. He makes me feel warm, and comfortable. When I'm with him, I'm home. I love Dennis, but not even he makes me feel this way.

"I don't want to wait." The words come out before I can stop them. I swallow nervously, glancing away from him.

"Huh?"

I make myself look back at him, swallowing whatever childish pride might have been left inside after everything that's happened. "I don't want to wait. I don't want to wait to decide."

He doesn't respond, stunned. I take a deep breath, knowing I dug myself into a ditch now, but I can't stop it now. I have to follow through, or else I'll hate myself forever and ever. He has to know how I'm feeling. I have to be honest with him.

"I'm sorry… This isn't fair… But… I can't wait, Twink! I can't wait for this. I… I can't go without telling you how much… I care… About-"

"I'm in love with you."

I stare at him. We were flirting so much, it really shouldn't have been a surprise. But now that it's out there, just hanging…

"I love you too!" I say quickly, not wanting to keep him in suspense.

I throw my arms around him and he quickly hugs me back, holds me tightly, keeps me close to him. I take that moment to take in everything around me. His warmth, his scent, the feeling of being held by him. This is everything I always wanted, happening now. Now, of all times. Now, right before I'm going to be sent away into the heat of battle…

We stay like that for a long time. I can feel his heart beating, I'm sure that he can feel mine beating too. It feels like I've just exhaled after holding my breath for seventy years. It's amazing. It's everything I ever wanted to feel, all happening at once. Maybe it's foolish to hold on so long like this, but I can't make myself let go. I want to hold him forever, I want to hold him all night, I want to hold him and never stop holding him. I feel his fingers brush some hair behind my ear and cup my cheek, serving a perfect resting place for me to look up at him.

This man means everything to me. I have never felt so strongly this way as long as I may have lived. I never want to end. I want to take him, run away, and be happy with him. The last thing I'd ever want to do is leave him… But it's exactly what I have to do. I don't have a choice anymore.

"I'm so sorry-"

"It's alright," he says quietly, smiling sadly down at me.

"No, it's not fair…" My eyes bubble with tears at the realization that I'm going to hurt him by leaving. If I had just agreed to wait, if I hadn't said anything…

"Don't cry, okay? We're going to make it." He gently wiped the tears from my cheeks with his thumb.

"What if-"

"Sh… All that matters now is that I'm never going to stop loving you." His expression is so warm, and kind, that I can't help but melt into his touch.

"I'll never stop loving you either," I say quietly, my voice shaking with tears. After all of this time holding them in, after waving goodbye to Dennis for what could be the last time, after enduring the pain of being alone in my own compartment, after spending so much time with Aunt Hester telling our stories, and with Sutter and Brooklyn, and getting to know Hal and Biddy and Proctor… I was going to leave so much behind for something that might not even be worth it… Before I have much time to think about it, another question takes me totally by surprise.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Wh-What?"

"Sorry, wrong question, now's not a good-"

"Yes." I sniffle a bit, smiling up at him with misty eyes.

He wraps an arm around my waist, keeping the other hand where it was cupping my jaw, and his lips meet mine softly.

Maybe this isn't the big fireworks kiss during the sunset with the summer breeze blowing the skirt to a pretty dress like I had imagined, but it was everything I wanted. We were in a dusty, dim storage closet, in which he had to be careful not to hit his head on the sloped ceiling, and I had to be careful not to knock over any brooms or step in any buckets. But I was kissing _him_. I was kissing a man that I loved more than anyone, and he was kissing me back and I knew that he loved me and only me with everything in him. And that was everything I ever would have wanted.

The kiss that started gentle quickly gets more intense, as if trying to make up for all the lost moments. I didn't want to stop kissing him, not ever. I wanted to stay with him forever, with the knowledge that he loved me and I loved him. What if he stopped loving me? What if one or both of us didn't survive? What if… Well, in his arms, kissing his lips, it was easy to forget the what-ifs. All I wanted to think about was us together as one, where we were meant to be. So that's what I did.

Those few moments were pure bliss. I had felt happiness before, I'd smiled and laughed and been happy, but it had been a long, long time since I'd felt such bliss. It felt as if I didn't have a problem in the world. Some sense that everything was perfectly as it should be.

The moment was too short. We separated, holding each other's gaze, staying in silence. I broke the eye contact by laying my head on his chest, listening to his heart beating. He reached up and lightly stroked my hair.

It was a happy moment, but not quite the bliss I had before. Now, I was painfully aware of the looming fact that I would have to leave. The fact that I wouldn't be going home to a family that would ask me why I was so happy. Sylvester would never get to tease me about how lovesick I am. Caroline would never be there to make faces but secretly be interested. My Dad wouldn't be there to teasingly "protect" me, my mother wouldn't be there to tell me cute stories about how her and Dad met, or give me advice, or even just giggle with me about it. Not to mention the fact that I'd be leaving. Going into rebellion, the heat of war. Soon, he would be too.

"I have to go," I say quietly. "I have to get revenge for Sylvester and Caroline, for Mom and Dad, for Uncle Holland… For everyone in Aunt Hester's stories that isn't here anymore. I have to go."

"I know," he says quietly, stroking my hair softly. He's gentle in everything his does, and this is no exception. "I couldn't ask you to stay. You do what you have to, and I'll do what I have to. We'll meet on the other side."

"I'm so sorry… I should have just kept my mouth shut… It would have caused much less heartbreak if-"

"No. I'm glad you said it. I'm glad it's out there. I would have had a harder time knowing I let you slip through my fingers than…" he trailed off, not sure what to say to make his statement sound more optimistic.

"I understand," I said quietly. "I definitely understand."

"Now… It's out. We can take a breath, right?" I feel him take a deep breath, heartbeat remaining steady, and feel waves of peace rushing into me. I take a deep breath too, and just for a second the iron grip that had been on my torso loosens.

"Can I say goodbye to you the morning of?" he asks quietly.

"I'd be honored," I say quietly. "But it is pretty early, and you'll have a full schedule-"

"I don't care. I want to spend every second I can with you."

"But the rules-"

"I don't care about the rules. If you want to, we'll spend all day tomorrow together. If I have to do community service because of it, I'll do it and smile because I got to spend quality time with my love."

I feel a blush spread across my face. "You'd do that for me?"

"I'd sort waste for an eternity if it meant I got to spend just a little bit of time with you," he whispers.

"You don't need to be all poetic and sappy with me," but I giggle because I can't say I don't love it.

I feel him laugh, not just hear it but feel it, I feel the happiness in his heart, the warmth of his body, the gentleness of his smile. It's such a surreal feeling, being so close to someone who means this much to you, and knowing they feel the same. It's pretty serious, which makes it a little bit scary because it's unfamiliar, but it's also exhilarating.

"Well, if we're going to have an amazing day of fun tomorrow, we should probably get some quality shut-eye," I say quietly. It takes all the self-control I have to say, as I would like nothing more but to spend the rest of the night here, in this ugly, drab closet, in Twink's arms.

"I guess you're right," he says quietly, but doesn't sound particularly happy about it. Slowly, he releases me, and I stand up, losing his warmth with a feeling of sadness washing over me. I don't want to say goodbye just yet.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he says, giving me a gentle smile. "I can walk you to your compartment if you like."

"Oh, sure…" I smile. "But before we do that… Kiss me again?"

"Of course." He smiles and does so, this time slow and passionate. I rise up on my tiptoes to get a better angle, wrapping my arms lightly against his neck. He rests his hands lightly on my waist. This kiss doesn't last quite as long as the first, but it provides some form of closure as he pulls back only slightly, allowing us some time to smile and be close before separating.

He takes my hand in his and squeezes it lightly, and together we leave the closet and walk to my compartment.

"Sleep tight," he says, giving me a gentle kiss on the forehead.

"You too," I say quietly, a soft smile staying on my features. I don't remember the last time I felt like this. Maybe I should have been afraid to love after what happened to my family, but I refuse to live in fear. I will love Christian Twinkler fearlessly. Like a badass, in his words. His touch stays with me when I go into my compartment. So gentle and warm, just like him.

I climb into bed, still smiling.

Maybe tonight the nightmares will finally be replaced with sweet dreams.

~.~.

-Kaspareks: Rebellion-

_Biddy_

_It wasn't like Hal to be so late. Yeah, he blew off his schedule to train sometimes, but it was so unlike him to be out this late at night. Even though 13 was totally safe and secure, I was starting to worry. _

_I stayed up with Proctor and played cards. We went a couple rounds of war, a couple rounds of spit, a round or two of go fish. We never got to play games in District 12, so as soon as we were able to learn we jumped on the opportunity. Hal didn't have much time for games, but it was an easy way to keep Proctor entertained while forgetting where we were for a while. Or, well, forgetting as best as we could. The thought that we have no home isn't going to go away so easily. _

"_So, how is school?" I asked him between turns. _

_He looked up at me with dead eyes. "Fine." _

"_Not too hard?" _

"_I said, _fine_. Do you have any fives?" _

"_You don't sound like you mean that. That it's fine." _

_He dropped his cards face-up. "I thought we could just go one fucking day without prying into Proctor's personal life but I guess I was wrong." _

"_Proctor, I just want to make sure you're alright," I said quietly. _

"_I'm fine! I told you!" _

"_Is it stressful? Are you lonely?" _

"_No, it's fine." He turned around and stomped over to the small bathroom in our compartment. "I'm going to shower." The door slammed. _

_I cleaned up the cards, that sinking feeling coming back. _

It's so hard to balance everything nowadays. With Hal and Proctor at arms and both of them carrying heavy baggage, I'm kind of left to the dogs. Not that it matters. I've always been the kind to offer to shoulder the bags, even when I have stuff of my own. Being in such a divided household can just make me feel so stuck. I'm trying to be on both sides, but there's going to come a time when I simply just can't. I have to decide where I stand.

I know that Hal is doing what he's been called to, and I know that he believes so strongly in this cause and he wants to make life better for all of us, but especially for Proctor and I. He wants to end the Games so that he will never have to watch us fight in them. He isn't the kind of guy to sit around when there's a torch that needs carrying. He's more a man of action than words.

At the same time, though, life without him feels almost impossible. I would be the oldest and have to make adult decisions for both myself and Proctor. I would be responsible, and I'm not sure I feel ready for that yet. And Proctor wasn't wrong when he said that things were finally starting to look up. If Hal dies, it's back to the orphanage with us. And what orphanage? District 12 is destroyed. I'm not ready to have that kind of responsibility. It scares me, and I wouldn't even know where to start. I would like to have him here. He's just more fit to make these decisions than I am.

The only thing I know for sure is that neither party is being very considerate of the other. That's what really grinds my gears. They're both being enormously selfish about this. Hal is fixated on why he thinks this is right, and what he's doing and what he should be fighting for. Proctor, in the same way, is fixated on why he thinks Hal should stay, why he needs Hal to be here, and why he thinks Hal's being a jackass about it. Nothing's ever going to come from this if they don't even try to see each other's side.

And here I am, in the middle. Hal comes to me when he's frustrated with Proctor, and Proctor comes to me when he's mad at Hal. It's so exhausting to have them both depending on me like this, but at the same time it's my job as their sister to be there for them.

Sometimes I feel like I'm not doing enough, and sometimes I feel like I'm doing too much. I can't seem to find a balance, and when either of them calls me out about it, they're usually not exactly kind about it. It was just a really tense, really painful time for all of us. Being caught in the middle is just such a weird feeling.

_Proctor didn't come out after showering. When I went to check on him, he was asleep. I was glad he was actually asleep, instead of pretending to sleep while stifling tears, which was the case more often than not. I tucked him in and left him, sitting on the floor and mindlessly playing solitaire while waiting for Hal to come back._

_The floor was cold, but I didn't mind. I would have rather sat there and kept my mind from wandering than lying awake in bed. It was pretty easy to get to some dark places, and I didn't have the time to go there. Hurting anyone, including myself, was not going to solve anything, even if there were times I was close to being convinced it would. I just had to keep the tears at bay for a little bit longer. Short-term goals were easier for me to keep, and keeping them I was. Or, trying my very best. _

_I had just flipped over the king of spades when the door slid open, quietly and sneakily. Hal looked pretty shaken, though. He looked even more shaken when he saw me there, waiting for him. _

"_Hal?" _

"_Biddy!" he said. He sounded surprised, as if he didn't expect to see me in our own compartment. _

"_Yeah? Are you alright?" _

_He bit his lip and nodded. "Yeah, yeah, fine, sorry." _

_I put the cards away as he took off his jacket. His hands were tightly clenching a piece of paper, and when I saw him closer up I noticed they were shaking. _

"_Hal…?" My brother rarely cried, but he looked pretty close to it now._

"_Just… Go to bed…" _

"_339? What does that mean?" I asked curiously. I couldn't imagine what had him so worked up. As soon as the question left my lips, Hal let out a choked sob. I wrapped my arms around him and he hugged me back tightly, as if something would take me away from him if he let go. I had never heard him cry so… Openly before. Usually he tried to hold it in. This time, I don't think he had a choice. _

"_What's wrong?" _

"_I love you," he choked out. _

"_I love you too," I said quietly. "But why say it now? What happened?" _

_He buries his face in my neck and sobs, and I just keep hugging him tightly. _

"_I need to tell you while I can," he choked out after a while. "While we still have time." _

"_Oh…" I hugged him until he let go, wiping at his eyes. _

"_Where's Proctor?" he asked in a small, weak voice. _

"_Sleeping." _

"_Is he really…?" _

"_Yeah, he's actually asleep."_

"_Oh. Good. Okay." He closed his eyes and took a deep, shaking breath. I didn't recognize his expression, which perplexed me. It was similar to his look when he was thinking of dad, but something told me Dad wasn't on his mind in that moment. "I think I'm going to hit the shower and go to bed early tonight." _

"_Yeah. Okay." I tried a tiny smile, even though I knew that both of my brothers would wake up the next morning with the same dark feeling as me, and I couldn't do anything about it. "Do you want me to hold onto that paper while you're there? Make sure nothing happens to it?"_

_He takes on a defensive stance. "No. Thanks." He was acting kind of like he did when he first started training, or when he signed up to fight, or when he was going to tell us something about Dad. He was hiding something. This time, though, he was afraid of what he was hiding. So afraid that I was sure he wasn't going to tell us about it, whatever it was. _

"_Good night Biddy." He had no reason to be so afraid of us, but I decided to let him have that one. With everything else that was going on, it would have been wrong of me to push._

"_Night Hal." He disappeared._

I tried to be encouraging and kind, I tried to be present with open ears, I tried all the time to be there, even when it was hard. Sometimes I considered just giving up, but it was moments like that in which I realized how much it necessary it was.

While Proctor is in school, I work towards the cause. I work in the uniforms department, inspecting each one to be sure it's battle-ready and making repairs where they may be needed, watching the machinery that produces them. I never thought, being from 12, that I'd have to do factory work, but I was ready to do whatever I could towards the cost. We didn't have payment, as everyone was the same here and money was useless, but it was a way to eat up time. One of the ladies working there even gave me a couple textbooks to read in my free time, in place of school.

It's not exactly the pretty work romanticized in the war posters, but it's helping the cause without putting me in danger, which is what I need. I couldn't imagine even risking leaving Proctor all by himself. Most of the ladies that I worked with were a good deal older than me, but I tried not to let that bother me. Of course I always had the fear that I wasn't doing enough, but I tried to keep it tame.

I watched as one by one, my friends left. Gradually, our table became more and more empty. A table that had once been bustling with Dennis's sarcasm, Marx's clapbacks, Tim's laughter, Hal's facepalming, Willow's bubbliness, and Twink's affectionate comments was now quiet and lonely. It feels like just yesterday we were all bustling to get a look at Hal's new training friend. And now I was all on my own. The District was quiet and deserted as so many people had gone to fight.

Dennis and Tim left first. They had gone into the initial rallies in 8, then had time back in 13 to recruit more people and recuperate before going back out. Not long after that, classes appeared on Proctor's schedule, and he started to eat with kids his age, which I was so happy about. Hal was the next to go. I still miss him more than anyone.

After him, Willow passed her Block Test, and was shipped out two days later. Marx passed not much later, and had a couple of weeks before she left. Twink struggled to pass his Block Test, not being at all prepared for battle because he was a Merchant kid with no experience being miserable and starving. I liked the time I got to spend with him. He missed Willow just as much as I missed Hal. We kind of gave each other some strength.

I just couldn't stop wondering where I would be when they told me Hal was dead. It was unhealthy, but there were so many _what-ifs_. Twink was the same way. But, it wasn't too long before he passed his Block Test and soon he was gone, too. It's been months of lonely lunches, death records coming in, wishing for my friends to be back by my side, hoping for something to happen…

Now, the table is empty. I'm alone.

Mrs. Christenson offered to let me sit with her and Mrs. Hawthorne, but I declined. I felt like too much of an outsider to be comfortable with them. Instead I just kept sitting at the same empty table. Even when the dining hall had a lot of people in it, nobody sat anywhere near our table. It's almost as if they know that those spots could only be filled by my friends and family.

Today, though, I look up when a tray is set down next to mine.

"Mind if we sit here?" Proctor asks, looking slightly concerned. Since he's come to accept the fact that Hal left, he's been doing better. He seemed to open up to his friends a little bit, which did wonders for his mood. It was still so rare to see him happy, but at least now he wasn't constantly snapping at everyone.

"No, of course not." Proctor sits next to me. A boy with golden-looking eyes, Willow's cousin, sat across from him, and next to that boy sat a boy with sandy hair, freckles, and bright gray eyes that I recognized as Marx's brother. The last of the group of boys was shier than the rest, with pale skin and curly black hair.

"This is Sutter, Pax, and Noah," Proctor introduced. "Guys, this is my older sister Biddy."

"Nice to meet you all," I said, smiling. It was really nice to meet them. I was glad Proctor had some guys his age that had some of the same troubles as he did.

"You too," Pax said with a small smile. Sutter gave me a smile, seeming slightly nervous, and the boy named Noah put his hand up in a small wave.

"How's school?"

"…Same as always," Pax says, adjusting his glasses. It was striking how similar to Marx he was. It was pretty easy to guess they were related. I'm sure the boy would have been much more animated if he was anywhere else, but here it was just plain sad. I tried to ignore what was happening and make this conversation as normal as possible.

"You'll appreciate school someday," I say, eating. I'm even more pleased when I see Proctor shoveling food into his mouth. After so long of having no appetite, it was good to see him eating.

"I like being educated, but _school_? I dunno about that," Pax said. "I guess it's a pretty good distraction though…"

"Things are kind of in a frenzy with everything that's going on," Sutter says, putting food into his mouth. I notice that both Sutter and Proctor are eating with one hand, the other under the table, but decide to pretend I don't notice. "I hope soon they can give us a job to help."

"It's not as fun as they make it out to be," I say, smiling slightly. "Trust me."

"But it helps, doesn't it?" Pax asks, looking like he'll be crushed if he learns he's been lied to.

"Of course it does," I say. "If it didn't I'd sit at home with my best friend Introduction to Mathematical Sciences Tenth Edition all day."

"Nerd," Sutter grins, before realizing that teasing someone he just met may not be the best idea. I just laugh.

"Yeah, I guess you could call me that."

"I'm so close to being 16," Sutter sighs. "Then I can really start working. Right? Isn't it funny, my birthday's just a day before Little Tim's!"

My ears perk with recognition. "Little Tim?"

"That's what most people call Noah," Proctor explains.

"You're Tim's brother?"

The slightly pudgy boy looks up, embarrassed to have attention, but he nods. "Yeah, Trace is my brother."

I grin, causing him to blush and pick at his food. "Sorry, not used to hearing him called Trace," I explain.

"It's strange, isn't it? I grew up with the guy and I still have to think about it when he's called Trace," Pax says quietly.

"Yeah, he doesn't really like his name."

"Do you like being called Little Tim?"

Noah gives a small shrug. "People are surprised I'm not… Like him. Y'know, after they're surprised I even exist."

"He's kind of quiet, but that's alright," Pax says, causing Noah to keep picking at his food.

"I understand, Noah, I'm quiet too," I say, trying to put as much kindness as I can behind the words.

The group goes into a silence, and I try to keep the conversation going the only way I know how.

"So, would you guys consider going into the field?" I ask Sutter and Noah curiously.

"Maybe," Sutter says. "I was thinking about trying to become a nurse or a healer, but I'd probably just stay here. My Mom's been through enough after losing Dad so suddenly, and now she's worried about Dennis and my cousin Willow too. I couldn't worry her that much. Plus, my sister Brooklyn's not doing great, and I'd hate to leave her."

"I'll probably just take a factory job," Noah mumbles.

"Yeah, that's what I do now. Maybe not shiny and beautiful, but necessary for sure."

"Do you think I'll end up doing something to help?" Pax asks.

"Hopefully this ends before you have to get involved," I say. "Maybe you could do something simple, though."

"Like what?"

"Hm… I don't know for sure. But something."

Pax creases his eyebrows but nods silently.

"Would you go fight?" Sutter asks me, causing Proctor to tense like a deer in headlights and Pax to look up, a miserable expression on his face.

"They'd have to _rip_ me away from here," I promise, which causes Proctor to relax slightly. Sutter mouths a _sorry _to him when he thinks nobody's watching.

"Well, I have to get back to work, but it was nice meeting you all," I say, smiling and standing up. "I'll see you tonight." I ruffle Proctor's hair, causing him to protest, before putting my tray away and leaving the cafeteria.

.

When I come back to the compartment after work, Proctor isn't there like he usually is. Usually by the time I'm back he's ready to go to bed, waiting for me to tell him good night. Tonight, though, he's nowhere to be found.

Last time this happened, Hal was the one that was out late. I wonder what's so great about staying out past curfew that I don't know about. I sit and play solitaire just like last time, waiting for him to come back. Maybe I'll scold him for worrying me so badly, I'm still not sure. All I know is that he better have a damn good excuse for being out so late.

I'm halfway through my fifth game when the door slides open and my brother runs in, in a frenzy. He throws drawers open, throwing pieces of fabric out, searching for something rapidly.

"Proctor? What on earth-"

"I need blankets and the cards and anything that can be used as a distraction. Paper, where's the paper…?" he starts throwing more drawers open in a frenzy.

"Proctor, what's going on? You're not going to leave again, are you?" I cross my arms sternly. He has school tomorrow, he knows that he can't stay up too late. Besides, if he's caught breaking curfew, he's not going to like it at all. Hal told me what it was like breaking curfew before. He keeps rapidly throwing things out of the drawer, collecting a pile of things in his arms.

"Proctor Kasparek, what do you think you're doing?" I ask him, as he goes to his room and starts rolling up his comforter. Is he trying to run away? What did I do that would ever prompt him to do something like that.

"I need a pencil."

"I gave mine to Dennis, remember? What are you doing- "

"Please. Where's Hal's?"

"I'll go get it, just a minute." I go to Hal's section of the compartment and find the pencil and a couple of other sheets of paper in the drawer, delivering them to Proctor.

"Thanks, now if you don't mind-"

"Proctor, where are you going?" I cross my arms.

"Sutter's. But Biddy-"

"Sutter's?! This late at night?! I don't mind you having a sleepover but-" He grabs his armful of stuff and says one last sentence before running out of the compartment. A sentence that I'm not prepared to hear.

"It's Willow. She's dead."


End file.
